32
As Angie Aragona hung up the phone she turned to Mar-dell, who sat in a big, upholstered armchair and was wrapped in a blanket. Angie looked dazed by the forces of memory. “That was Charley Partanna. How come he calls you?”
“It’s a small world,” Mardell said.
“I haven’t seen him myself for like eight years. Not since I’m married. I know you said you wouldn’t take any calls, but if you know Charley and he knows you’re here—how come you don’t wanna take his calls?”
“He hurt my feelings, Angie.”
“Charley? How?—if it’s not too personal.”
“We were—well, we were going together, he was very serious, he said, but—he was engaged to be married to another woman.”
“Yeah? Who?”
“A woman named Maerose Prizzi.”
“Prizzi? Maerose Prizzi?”
“Don’t tell me you know her, too.”
“That is very high fratellanza, Mardell. That is the very top in the—uh—the honored society.”
“The Mafia?”
“Sssh!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nobody—the politicians, the media, particularly the—the—fratellanza—wants anybody to say that word.”
“Why not?”
“It shows a lack of sensitivity toward Italian-Americans.”
“Then they should pass a law that would change the name of everybody with an Italian name and a police record.”
“To what?”
“Well, to an Eskimo name.”
“Wouldn’t that show a lack of sensitivity toward Eskimo-Americans?”
“It wouldn’t matter. There aren’t any Eskimo politicians.”
“No wonder you didn’t want to talk on the phone with Charley. A woman like that could be dynamite.”
“Oh, I’m not mad at him. I’m just teaching him a lesson. My general theory is that if he can’t get me on the phone, he’ll come home sooner.”
“But what about—you know who?”
“Who?”
“Miss Prizzi.”
“I think that’s going to be all right,” Mardell said. “She wants to have a meeting.”
When Angie left, Mardell settled down to write a letter to her mother.
Dear Mother,
I’m pretty sure now that I’ll be home for Christmas and stay on for a while. You and I have to talk about Freddie. He is pressing me very hard and sooner or later I will have to have a respectful answer for him. We are both fairly certain what that answer will be, because I love him and he loves me and you have always told me what should be the proper outcome of that sort of thing. My job in New York is just about over. They want to move me to Nevada but that doesn’t appeal to me at all. The “hit person” in New York about whom I wrote to you is still on hand and he’s very good company. Hattie Blacker says the material I have dredged up on him is going to be the absolute center of her master’s thesis. The surprise of all is that I had a touch of pneumonia. I was playing tennis at the court the Laverys have in their field house at the very elegant place on Sixty-fourth Street, then, all sweat, I went to change and some clown had turned the air-conditioning on. Don’t get all upset because it’s all over. The father of my Brooklyn friend had me deposited into a hospital at the first sign, and before it could take any hold, it was gone.
There was a knock at the hospital room door.
“Come in,” Mardell sang out.
A very tall young man wearing a dark gray vicuña overcoat with a velvet collar came into the room. He smiled at her warmly.
“Hi, Gracie.”
“Freddie! What a surprise. How ever did you find me?”
“Edwina told me. How did you ever find this hospital?”
She filled the room with her smile. God, she thought to herself, what a beautiful man.