29

Gennaro got Charley the whole top floor, three rooms, at the New Franciscan Patio Hotel and Restaurant in a safely nonmusical part of the Quarter. Natale said if you were on the wrong street in the Quarter the Dixieland noise could drive you crazy; it never stopped. Gennaro had the telephone company put a private line in Charley’s room so his calls wouldn’t have to go through the switchboard.

Every room was furnished in dark, solid mission style. The bedroom didn’t have closets but two enormous carved-wood armoires and a canopied four-poster bed which was so high from the floor that it could only be reached by climbing a four-step ladder.

Monday night Charley ate in the hotel restaurant, a real Italian joint with a terrific stuffed artichoke and a sensational veal involtini. Gennaro had to own this place, Charley decided, except that this wasn’t any Calabrese cooking, this was Italian-international and it was only one grade under the real thing. He was lucky enough to notice on the menu that the veal came with polenta so he made sure he changed that part to manicotti. Now he knew Gennaro didn’t own this restaurant. Polenta was that bland northern Italian food. Jesus, he would bet they didn’t even know about garlic, but they knew. He couldn’t figure it out.

The place was run by two Italian families, and he got talking to the woman of one of them. She was crazy about the idea of the Crown of Thorns pasta thing he had picked up in New York for next Easter. He asked her where she was from. She said Calabria. He asked her how come the polenta. She said her husband thought polenta was more European-like. She said people who came in from out of state were very respectful about northern Italian cooking. Charley snorted. Marketing, he thought. Whatta you gonna do?

The weather was still nice so he ate in the patio, which had a big tree and good service. He drank a whole half-carafe of wine with the meal. After that he had his meals in his rooms. He didn’t feel much like going out and walking around, because on the first night in the place, after he went upstairs following that terrific dinner, Maerose called him from New York. He kept thinking he better be there at night in case she called back again because the woman had flipped her wig.

She started out cordial—“Cholly? Mae.”

He leaped out of the chair and took the call standing at attention. “Hey, Mae!” he said.

“How come you didn’t call me?”

“Well—maybe Pop told you—this was an emergency trip.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot. Your father told me a beautiful story.”

“Whatta you mean?”

“I thought maybe your woman told you that you shoulda made an emergency call to me.”

“My woman?”

“Are you going to tell me you didn’t take a woman with you from New York to Miami? Because I got it all in front of me—the limousine ticket for the pickup of you and the woman at the Miami airport, the hotel registration—which it was very considerate at least that you didn’t check in as mister and missus—so save it, Charley.”

“Mae, lissen—”

“I might have been able to take it if you just got hot for some little local broad you happened to run into down there, but you took this one with you. You didn’t take me with you, Charley. Then I have some people check out this woman in New York and the news comes back that you are at her place half the time you are in New York, when you weren’t with me you were with her, so don’t hand me any shit, Charley.” Her voice broke.

“Mae, you been drinking?”

“Aaaaash, whatsa difference.”

“You’re never yourself when you drink that stuff. Nobody is.”

“Listen, Charley—”

“Mae, I gotta see you. It’s no good talking like this on the phone. I gotta look at you and you gotta look at me while we say what we gotta say.”

“What do we have to say?”

“That’s it. I don’t want to say it on the phone.”

“How else can you say it?”

“I have to stay away until after the election. Then, when I come back, we have to straighten everything out.”

“No.”

“No what?”

“I am not going to wait around until you get back. I am coming to New Orleans and I’ll look in your eyes and tell you what I see.”

“Mae! Wait! Check it out with Pop before you make a move. This is a tricky thing, the reason I’m in New Orleans.”

“Whatta you think? I just got off the boat? I know why you’re in New Orleans. You are in New Orleans because you want to duck me until you think this whole thing has blown over. It ain’t going to blow over, Charley. Either it’s going to be on or it’s off. For good and forever. I’m coming to New Orleans.”

“Mae, listen. I got a job your Uncle Gennaro wants me to do. I won’t have any time to see you—as much as I want to see you.”

“Either this whole thing matters to you or it don’t. If you won’t come to New York then I’m going there. I’m gonna make you drop the other shoe either on her or on me, Charley. And you know something else?”

“What?”

“I hate big, sloppy broads.”

“Who?”

“You know who.”

“She may be big, but she ain’t sloppy. And I’d say the same for you, Mae, if anybody ever said that about you.”

She slammed the phone down on the receiver from somewhere high over her head. He was bewildered. What did he say wrong this time?