AS DINO MONTEBOLOGNA’S EBONY Cadillac zoomed back to New Jersey from honeymoonland, Bella sat wedged between two new steamer trunks. She had been on her stinkin’ honeymoon for over a goddamned week. Five long days stuck in the Crab Trap with Melvin guarding. Then three more perched in a suite at the top of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in New York City.
Caged like a stinkin’ canary.
Every day Dino had to see a man about a donut. And every night he disappeared until the wee hours of dawn, leaving Bella alone with Melvin, who did nothing but read. The humorless henchman had finished The Odyssey and was plowing through a Bible-sized book called War and Peace.
To amuse herself, Bella continuously ordered room service. Steak Diane, chicken à la king, ice-cream sundaes, and bottle after bottle of the best champagne.
“Hey, Melvin. Why do you read so many goddamned books?” she slurred while slicing through a medium-rare filet.
“I learn things.”
“What kindsa things?”
The big guy shrugged. “I find out what goes on in other parts of the world. What it might be like to spear a whale, or fight in a duel, or fuck the living daylights out of a saucy maid.”
“You wanna fuck me?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Whysnot?”
“Cause if I do, your husband’ll kill me.”
“It’ll be worth it, believe youse and me.”
“No fuck is worth gettin’ iced over.”
“I used to be known as Queen of Sin City.”
“I don’t care if you was known as the fuckin’ queen of Italy, I’m keepin’ my paws to myself. And if I was you, I’d do the same thing.”
Twice during their little Manhattan holiday, Dino took Bella shopping. They spent two whirlwind days trunking through the designer showrooms of Fifth Avenue, where a parade of models displayed the latest fashions from Paris, France. They hit the garment district and the shipping docks on the lower Hudson. Dino knew an awful lot about women’s fashion.
“Dat’s the wrong color. Do you have it in a sapphire blue?”
“Dis is too close to last season’s cut. I thought hems were a lot shorter dis year …”
If he didn’t like an outfit, he dismissed it with a curt wave of his manicured hand. If he loved something, he bounced up and down like a jack-in-the-box in front of a dancing band. He made Bella try on an enormous variety of gowns and shoes, even wigs and lingerie. Once he draped a charcoal-gray cinema suit in front of himself and insisted the color was simply stunning.
Two large steamer trunks full of the latest fashions and accessories were packed into the Cadillac.
“You’re gonna live in a castle fit for royalty!” Dino hollered as they sped along Upper Mountain Avenue in Montclair, New Jersey.
Coney Island flashbulbs popped in front of Bella, and she saw the beautiful face of Francis Anthony Mozzarelli smiling, a crown of thorns around his handsome head.
“Home sweet home!” Dino sang as they cruised up a winding driveway to a stonemason’s wet dream. A palazzo built with imported travertine. Square bell towers and boxed turrets peaked in the Garden State sky. Iron-cased windows with diamond-shaped panes winked. Sprays of dense ivy crawled up smokeless chimneys.
“I call it Piccola Italia!” Dino proudly proclaimed. “It’s my very own Little Italy. And now it’s yours, too, my Queen!”
Bella heard Francis Anthony Mozzarelli howling.
As they braked into a wide porte cochere, a tall, middle-aged black man in a stiff butler’s uniform regally stepped out of the servants’ entrance to greet them.
“Dis is my main man, Sweet Jim,” Dino said.
The formal-looking fellow pursed his lips and glared.
“Jim runs the whole show here,” Dino informed Bella. “Anything you need, you just ask him.”
“Boy! Get them bags and trunks!” Sweet Jim called and Jerry, Bella’s little guardian angel from her stay above the Elbow Room, popped out of the house. He was pinched into a formal pallbearer’s suit and smiling.
“Hello, Missus!”
“Hello, Jerry!” Bella cried.
The sprightly kid scampered to the back of the car and started unloading.
“We got giant clams from the Cape!” Dino sang. “They’re called co-hogs. Ain’t dat name hilarious?”
“Boy!” Sweet Jim hollered. “Drop them bags and get them pig clams in the kitchen!”
Dino and Bella, led by Sweet Jim, marched around to the front of the mansion with Melvin following. When Bella stepped into the grand foyer, her mouth dropped open.
Towering walls covered with oversized paintings of dramatic Venetian scenes swirled around her. A wide waterfall of a grand staircase tumbled down from a stained glass window the size of a barn door. Not a saint or angel in flight. The rainbow-colored glass depicted a bare-chested warrior saddled on a brutish stallion rearing against a voluptuous sky.
“It looks like somethin’ out of a picture show in here,” Bella said as Jim toured them through the mansion’s bare ballroom. It was big enough for a couple of Coney Island’s carousels to spin around in. Under a cluster of crystal chandeliers, a sea of polished parquet spread to an empty bandstand.
Then came the solarium. Fat ceramic pots filled with full-figured trees and naked statues of men, some posed alone, some wrestling together, a couple pissing water into shimmering pools stocked full of the biggest goldfish Bella had ever seen.
“Jesus!” she said when they entered the enormous restaurant-style kitchen. Two griddled stoves and a long center island with three sinks.
“Jesus had nothin’ to do with it,” Sweet Jim muttered under his breath.
“Dis is all for you, Belladonna Marie Montebologna!” Dino proclaimed. “You’re the mistress of Piccola Italia now!”
Sweet Jim audibly cleared his throat and Jerry chuckled as he dragged one of the steamer trunks across the kitchen floor.
“What is you makin’ us for dinner?” Dino asked Bella.
“How about Sicilian stuffed quahogs?”
“Boy!” Sweet Jim called to Jerry. “You best start scrubbin’ them big clackers clean!”
The rest of the place felt like it took forever to travel through. Room after room cluttered with an angry array of massive antiques. Hand-carved sideboards (wolf heads baring teeth), piecrust-shaped wine tables (claws for feet), and harvest-colored Tiffany lamps (crows and ravens flying).
“What if I get lost?” Bella asked as they passed through a well-stocked library.
“Ring one of the call buzzers,” Dino said. “Sweet Jim or Jerusalem will find you.”
“Maybe so,” Sweet Jim muttered under his sweet breath. “Maybe not.”
After padding through a confusing maze of second-story hallways, they entered a satin-walled tunnel of pocket-sized rooms. Tufted jewel boxes stuffed with an array of feminine things. Lamps embedded with colorful glass beads. Marble-topped tables with dainty paws for feet.
“Dis is all yours!” Dino proclaimed.
“My God!” Bella exclaimed.
“God had nothin’ to do with it,” Sweet Jim hissed with disdain.
In the first room, sheer pink curtains billowed in next to a Parisian vanity much grander than Alice Lombardi’s dressing table.
In the second room, they were greeted by a storm cloud of a canopy bed the size of a carnival tent, caped in bloodred velvet drapes, and a chifforobe as big as Peanut the elephant.
“Show her the powder room, Jim!”
Sweet Jim narrowed his eyes considerably. “Yes, Mr. Dino.”
The regal houseman pushed open a set of French doors to reveal a sea of blue and white tile weaving to an ocean-sized bathtub big enough to drown a Queen.
“Why don’t youse take a bubble bath,” Dino said. “I’ve got to see a man about a donut.”
“You eat a lot of donuts,” Bella said.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Sweet Jim muttered. “How do you take your water?” he asked Bella, after Dino and Melvin left. “Ice-cold like the Hudson in January? Or scalding like the devil’s sea?”