WHEN FRANCIS ANTHONY MOZZARELLI realized Bella had left him, he dropped to his knees. He pounded his chest and yanked the hair out of his beautiful head. Then he spun around like a lost dog, sniffing and digging and yelping.
Chester was beside himself too. “Oh no! Not another runaway bride!” he cried.
“Where she go? Where she hide?” Lolly wept.
“A cartoon cowboy appeared and swept her away!” Minnie informed everybody.
“What do you mean?”
“Was it a kidnapping?”
They fanned out and bloodhound-searched the entire town.
They scoured the boardwalk, under and above.
Francis kicked open the Peek-a-Booths one at a time and snapped the lights on in the Tunnel of Love.
They checked around the carousels and behind every horse in the Steeplechase mechanical horse race.
They swept through every fun house and scoured every animal cage.
“Belladonna Marie! Where are you?!” Francis cried. “Belladonna Marie, come home to me!”
The fresh spaghettini hanging from the kitchen ceiling dried and dropped. The seafood stew congealed and turned into slop. The wedding cake collapsed. The reception flowers died. The lights in the trees winked out one at a time.
“We gotta try and get things back to normal around here,” Chester calmly said. He gave Francis an elephantine sedative and gently tucked the sobbing Hero into bed.
Oui Oui wouldn’t leave his sleeping buddy’s side. The tiny man kneeled at the foot of his Hero’s bed and prayed. “Jesus! Bring Bella home to my Hero! Please!”
When Francis finally opened his eyes, he wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t drink. He just stared into the ether, sobbing and muttering, “Belladonna Marie. Come home to me …”
As the former Strongman began to waste away, the worst was feared.
That’s when a tough-looking woman with a lit Pall Mall clenched between her teeth pulled up to the house in a growling DeSoto with Jersey plates.
“I’m here for Francis Anthony Mozzarelli!”
When she landed in his room, she confronted the trembling cluster of sideshow performers. “What the fuck have you freaks done to my son?”
As Oui Oui screamed, the furious old octopus lifted Francis out of bed. With the wailing midget wrapped around her legs, she carried her son down to her car and swaddled him into the passenger seat. She pulled out a gun and fired into the trees, scattering everybody. Then she peeled away chased by Oui Oui and the rest of Francis Anthony Mozzarelli’s Coney Island family.
In her cottage in Seaside Heights, Mary propped Francis in a chair. She opened her traveling barber bag, plugged in her clippers, and buzzed his head.
“A great haircut gives a man dignity,” she muttered, a fresh cigarette clenched between her teeth.
After clipping his beautiful curls to the floor, she gently tucked him into his boyhood bed. “Don’t worry,” she soothed. “Mamma’s gonna take care of her baby. Mamma’s gonna take care of everything.”
Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby, ooh,
Who will I give this baby to?
Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby, eee,
I will keep this baby for me …
“Belladonna Marie!” Francis screamed. “Come home to me!”