Rosetti was sitting in the front row staring at me. The Heckler ridiculed and insulted me the entire time. I had a real-life gangster threatening me and a make-believe gangster humiliating me for ninety minutes without a break.
To say that I was the low man on the totem pole in this group would be putting it mildly. The emcee ignored me. The audience didn’t even look at me—except for Rosetti who kept his eyes fixed on me the entire time. The other panelists paid no attention to me whatsoever, except for The Heckler who made a point of taunting me now and then.
After being silent for about forty-five minutes, I decided to follow Jerry Pennington’s advice and ask a question of my own:
“There’s something I always wondered about The Sopranos …” I began.
“I thought you said you were on the show,” said The Heckler.
“Well, I was, but it was a small part,” I said to The Heckler for the umpteenth time. “And I’m wondering—”
“I’m wondering what the fuck you’re doing up here, kid—heh, heh, heh.”
“Well, I—”
“If you want to ask questions about The Sopranos, why don’t you go down into the audience and wait your turn until the microphone comes around?”
The audience giggled uncomfortably.
“I’m just having a little fun with you, kid,” said The Heckler, realizing he’d gone too far. “I’m just breaking your balls. What’s your question, young man?” he asked like a kindly grandfather.
“Never mind,” I said.
“Let’s go back to the audience,” said the emcee. “Yes, you in the third row with the blue shirt. What’s your question?”
A short guy in chinos and a blue golf shirt stood up and said, “I heard somewhere that Tony Sirico, the guy who played Paulie Walnuts in The Sopranos, was in the Mafia in real life. Is that true?”
“Tony told me he’d had some run-ins with the police when he was younger,” said The Fatman, “but I don’t think he was actually in the Mafia.”
I glanced at Rosetti, who rolled his eyes and shook his head as if to say, “Trust me, there are no actors in the Mafia.” What a weird moment. It was as if Rosetti and I were starting to become friends.
Another weird moment. Somebody else in the audience asked a question of The Fatman and Goodfella. “Am I mistaken, or weren’t both of you in that scene in Goodfellas in the Hawaiian restaurant where all the mobsters were introduced?”
The Fatman and Goodfella looked each other over and started laughing.
“I think we were,” said The Fatman.
“Yeah, we were both in it,” said Goodfella. “I didn’t realize it until now. But both of us were in it. That’s funny.”
“Every Italian actor in New York was in that scene,” said The Heckler. “Even my grandmother was in that scene. Well, Mr. Volpe wasn’t in it. Even if he says he was.”
“No, I wasn’t in it,” I managed to say.
I should’ve said, “I wasn’t born yet.” But the line didn’t occur to me until ten seconds too late. Don’t you hate when that happens?
I was so humiliated I was giving some serious thought to standing up and walking out of the room. Then something bizarre happened.
Tony Rosetti raised his hand and asked for the microphone.
“My question is for Mr. Joey Volpe,” he said.
“The fox is about to speak,” said The Heckler. “Everybody be real quiet. This is going to be interesting. Tell us about the time you starred in Gone with the Wind, Mr. Volpe.”
Rosetti ignored him.
“My question is about your role in Button Men,” said Rosetti.
“Oh, we have a question about sewing,” said The Heckler. “How do you sew a button on your brassiere?”
“Is it knit one or purl two? Heh-heh-heh. I don’t know whether to sew it by hand or use my Singer sewing machine? Heh-heh-heh.”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP, ASSHOLE!”
There was a sharp, collective intake of breath from the audience. Followed by utter and complete silence. Did that really happen? Did a member of the audience tell a celebrity on the dais to shut the fuck up?
“If I hear one more word out of you,” said Rosetti, “I’m going to come up there and rip your balls off with my bare hands. Then I’m going to stuff them down your fucking throat. Do you understand me? Capisci?”
I glanced at The Heckler. He looked like he was melting in his chair. Rosetti waited for a moment to see if he would dare to talk back. He continued in a more measured tone. “Joey, I was a big fan of Button Men. I liked it better than The Sopranos. It was more—what’s the word?—authentic. Every week they’d tell the story of a different soldier, a different button man. I liked your character a lot. So how come they never told your story? I wondered why you never got the big part.”
“You and me both!” I said.
There was a nervous titter from the audience.
“No, actually, the producers told me my big episode would come in the second season. But we never got to the second season because our ratings were too low. We got canceled. I’m just sorry there weren’t more fans like you out there.”
I glanced at The Heckler to see if he had some sarcastic remark to add. There was nothing in his chair but a pool of urine and protoplasm.
“Well, I told everybody I knew to watch the show,” said Rosetti. “But the bastards don’t always do what I say.”
“On that note,” said the emcee, “we should wrap this up. Please join me in thanking our gangster panel with a big round of applause.”
The Heckler was the first one out the door. He ran into the greenroom like a gazelle that’d caught the scent of a cheetah. The other two actors, bless their hearts, took their time to pat me on the back, shake my hand, and say goodbye. They knew I’d had a rough time of it.
For a moment, I was alone on the dais and wondering what to do next. Although the audience was filing out the door, Rosetti stayed in his seat. He smiled at me.
He had me cornered.
If I tried to go through the main doors of the meeting room, he could block my path. If I tried to go through the greenroom and out the side door, he could intercept me there. The security guard would be long gone.
At that moment, he didn’t seem so threatening anymore. He was the only one who came to my defense during the panel discussion, after all. I decided I no longer had a choice. I was postponing the inevitable. Besides, he told me there might be some acting work and some money in it for me. Lord knows, I needed both. So I stepped off the dais and walked up to where he was sitting in the front row.
“Mr. Rosetti,” I said. “You wanted to speak with me?”