Willy turned white as a sheet and lowered his head in submission. He bit his lips in an attempt to hold back anymore useless words and left.
Even though they were alone, Esposito waited for a signal from his boss before speaking. They both lifted a finger as their starter cue.
I already mentioned to Joe, began Esposito, then held up his hand to correct himself. For years, it was held in the highest consideration by the entire family that when one of them were alone with Joe Santini, they could call him Joe, but in the company of other people, he should be referred to by his title.
Esposito continued, to the Boss, that the girl has had a certain impact on your nephew. I believe that it would be a good idea to direct his attention toward other women before it becomes a more complicated problem.
Carmine let out a big sigh. Why did life have to feel like he was constantly putting out fires? As soon as he fixed one problem, another one popped up. The girl Susan, is very pretty. We would need to find another that measures up, that would catch his interest. Though I doubt he would be interested in anyone else as long as he's got it in his head that Susan's the one. Just like his father God rest his soul.
In my opinion, two big tits and a nice ass work miracles on a man. I've got one chick in mind that could resurrect the dead. Her name is Lola. She's from the Meat Packing District. She is number one on Gansevoort Street! said Esposito.
A prostitute Carmine was reluctant. It wasn't a question of morals; he was first in line when he had the time and longing. But it was different for his nephew. Ben was young and handsome, and certainly didn't need a hooker.
The entire family agreed that Esposito's best quality was his ability to tune into the person to whom he was speaking, deducing even the smallest phrases and reading the slightest facial movements, already knowing what they were thinking and what they were going to say.
With all due respect, sir, I doubt that a woman like Lola would be easy to win over, even for an attractive boy like your nephew. The fact that she is a professional would make everything easier for all of us. Give your nephew a few nights of passion with Lola, and Susan will be sweet history. This way, getting rid of her will be painless.
Esposito's argument was pretty convincing.
Let's give it a try. Make contact with this Lola and take her to a boutique and get her a nice wardrobe. I don't want her looking like a hooker. Explain the situation to her, then we'll invite her to dinner. We'll find a way to leave the two of them alone together.
It would be ideal if we invented a good story that Lola could act out during the evening. Something moving that touches the heart.
Carmine decided to entrust the creative mind of Esposito. Why not any ideas?
Well, for starters, she could play the part of an elementary school teacher.
Esposito recalled with pleasure one of their evenings. To satisfy one of his fantasies, he had her interpret the role of a school teacher: a blonde babe wearing glasses, a tiny low-cut white blouse and a short plaid skirt.
She's from Ukrain, so we can give her a tormented past; she was a young orphan and had to go out in the street in the snow to sell matchsticks.
Matchsticks? Isn't that a children's fairy tale? Esposito, are you firing on all cylinders? No, here's what we're gonna do. An orphan is good, but she was adopted and her foster father was violent. He beat and abused her. When she turned eighteen, she ran away from home, finding odd jobs that allowed her to study at night school and became the woman she is today. What do you think?
Esposito was almost crying. I think that's the most touching story that I've ever heard, Boss. My compliments. You have an incredible imagination.
What imagination? It's the story of a soap opera that my wife used to watch, may she rest in peace.
Anyway, we need to come up with an explanation for Ben as to why she'll be at dinner at our house, said Carmine.
Lola can just show up at dinnertime as a volunteer for some orphanage, asking for a donation that we had promised to give to charity for the poor orphans. Then she can pretend to have forgotten the right day. At that point, we can invite her to join us for dinner, said Esposito.
The idea was full-proof and could work.
You know something? You're a really good liar. I hope your wife is the only one who needs to be careful.
Carmine grabbed the phone and got Joe Santini's number. Joe? Hey, it's Carmine. I just want your opinion on a deal regarding Ben no, don't worry, he's not in any trouble. Actually, I think we might have a solution for our problem
In other circumstances, he would have sent Esposito over to explain, but on this occasion, he wanted to tell him himself. Joe agreed with the plan and gave him carte blanche to go ahead.
In the dark about his uncles' behind-the-scenes plans to orchestrate his life, Ben was busy getting his material ready for the show, when an unexpected phone call filled him with joy.
Susan! How nice to hear from you so soon?
I hope I'm not bothering you. I've just been given two tickets for a concert this evening at the Webster Hall Nightclub and I wanted to ask if you wanted to come with me. I'd like to pay you back a little for all your kindness. It's the least I can do.
He couldn't have been happier if she had offered ten gold bricks, so he immediately accepted before some other invitation could ruin his evening. It will be a pleasure. Thank you. I can't think of anything better than some good music to help me unwind.
After they worked out a time and place to meet, Ben hung up and realized that he had no knowledge of the music that would be playing. It wasn't important, after all. The only thing that mattered was that he was going to spend the evening with Susan, wherever they ended up was fine with him.
Chapter 4
Webster Hall at 125 East 11th Street
Judging by the long line of people waiting in front of the entrance, the event of the evening seemed to have attracted a lot of interest.
Susan gave off an almost tangibly exhilarated air, which contrasted with Ben's dark suspicion, as he kept looking around for something to reassure him. But the more he searched, the more his anxiety increased.
He figured that at least fifteen people, between those in front and those at the end of the line, could have very well spent the last two or three years behind bars. Not to mention their clothing, that appeared tenebrously sinister and bordered on something close to satanic. He found the courage to ask a question that might help him understand his surroundings a bit more.
Susan, sorry but, what exactly are we going to see tonight?
She looked at him like he had come from another planet. What do you mean? Everybody knows Zoroaster from Atlanta! Ignorance surrounded him, clearly revealed in his face.
You really don't know who they are? I mean, don't you like Sludge Metal?
He attempted a vague answer while clearing his voice, but Susan saw right through his posturing.
I get it. You don't know and you need me to explain, right? Despite his embarrassment, Ben had to confess that he had no idea what she was talking about.
Sludge Metal, or rather, Sludge Doom Metal is a sub-genre of Heavy Metal music that's usually considered a fusion of Doom Metal, Stoner Metal, Southern Rock and Hardcore Punk. She waited for Ben to wrap his head around all of it, then decided to change her tactic. Don't worry. Let's do this, we'll listen to a few songs and if you can't stand it, just tell me and we'll go somewhere else. Does that sound all right?
Sludge Metal, or rather, Sludge Doom Metal is a sub-genre of Heavy Metal music that's usually considered a fusion of Doom Metal, Stoner Metal, Southern Rock and Hardcore Punk. She waited for Ben to wrap his head around all of it, then decided to change her tactic. Don't worry. Let's do this, we'll listen to a few songs and if you can't stand it, just tell me and we'll go somewhere else. Does that sound all right?
The skies cleared, the sun came out and Ben immediately felt better. He happily accepted Susan's offer, even if he would have rather been standing in line to see Shakira.
Inside the club, the music was a detonation that filled every corner, embellished by various strobe lights rotating wildly, shooting in every direction.
Everyone was moshing to heavily distorted bass sounds and rivers of oppressive riffs which appeared to try its best to smother the writhing mass of Metalheads. Ben felt like he was at the center of a spinning universe that was breaking apart with every violent beat of the drums, jolted right and left while the sea of people slam danced and shouted guttural hardcore punk language. He struggled to understand what Susan was trying to yell in his ear.
Oh my God! This is the Ancient Ones from the Matador album.
He nodded and gave a hint of a smile, hoping that this torture would soon be over. The only way he was able to stand the nightmare, was because it looked like Susan was having fun.
The worst came when the crowd slammed into him and he felt something soggy and slimy spread all over his forearm. He instinctively pulled his arm back, but was only partly able to, because another wave of pushing shoved him in total contact with the thing. His whole arm, including his hand, felt like it was covered in a mix of sweaty and oily gelatin that smelled like a toilet at a service station.
Totally revolted, he found the courage to turn around and actually look at the horror that he had come in contact with.
Pushing him from behind, was the belly, soft and deformed by alcohol, which belonged to a guy wearing a muscle shirt that was two sizes too small for his immense body, only covering his chest and part of his gigantic gut.
The man, heavily made-up with black eyeliner, wore a Marlon Brando cap, dozens of earrings and studded necklaces that served as an introduction to his collection of esoteric tattoos. From the shine of his skin, it was evident that he had slathered himself in some kind of oil.
Ben gagged and knew he had to get out of there, or he would vomit.
Trying to look casual, he surreptitiously cleaned his arm on the shirt of the unfortunate person standing next to him, then grabbed Susan by the waist and quickly tried to escort her away from the herd. She interpreted his attempt at escape as trying to feel at home, so she decided to accommodate him by yelling a request in his ear.
Can I climb up on your shoulders?
Ben didn't hear a word, but out of kindness, answered with a smile that said yes. He only figured out what she meant after she had climbed on his back, digging her heels into his ribs. He did his best to keep his balance, counting on the crowd surrounding him to keep him from falling over.
Then suddenly Susan jerked around. A guy standing right behind her put his whole hand on one half of her ass, his eyes fixed on the stage while he sipped his beer with the other hand.
That's when Susan lost it. Hey, you creepy pig! Get your filthy hand off me! But he just stood there with his hand firmly in place, squeezing her butt and sipping his beer.
Are you an idiot, or what? Take your hands off me! Furious, she lashed out, but as soon as she came close to his hand, he moved it, then put it right back on her ass.
Worn out, she smacked Ben in the head to get his attention. Aren't you going to say anything to this jerk?
When Ben realized what was going on, he turned around to face the cause of trouble. Hey buddy, go molest somebody else! The guy let out a resounding and sour burp that hit Ben and everyone around him.
Susan, more than pissed off, gave a swift kick in the face to the perpetrator. In his attempt to protect his head from the blow, he spilled most of his beer on the couple standing next to him. The beer-drenched guy wasn't particularly tall, but was ripped from hours lifting weights at the gym and he wasn't at all happy about being doused. He grabbed the culprit by the front of his t-shirt and started shaking him like a rag doll. What the fuck! You ruined my clothes, you moron!
Like some kind of crazed idiot, the ass-grabber started laughing uncontrollably, enraging the weightlifter with every chuckle. If you don't shut up, I'm gonna break your face! Then we'll see if you're still laughing.
Behind him, a guy, dressed in yellow from head to toe, tried to intervene in defense of the idiot. C'mon, leave him alone. Can't you see there's something wrong with him?
The bully didn't appreciate Mr. Yellow's intrusion and decided to show him who was boss. Who are you? Now get outta here, go back to the discotheque canary!
Some words have the destructive potential of a firebomb released in an atomic nuclear reactor, but the gratuitous insult that triggered the inevitable fight was, unexpectedly: canary.
Excuse me? What did you call me? A canary? He blew a loud whistle that would have been lost in the music if it weren't combined with long arms reaching out to his friends. Four guys, all dressed similarly to the canary moved in threateningly close to the weightlifter. They looked like some kind of gang.
From Ben's shoulders, Susan watched the group closing in and in a panic, started hitting and prodding him with her heels, spurring him on before catastrophe hit. Oh my God! It's the Yellow Brothers! Hurry up, let's get out of here fast!
Her frantic movements caused Ben to lose his already precarious balance, staggering until the inevitable and abrupt fall, generating a disastrous domino effect.
Susan yelled as she fell on top of the weightlifter, who, desperately trying to get a handhold, violently catapulted himself into the canary's chest, causing him to windmill blows onto the two guys standing on the sidelines while he fell backward, in turn, forcing them into a flailing kind of moonwalk, while landing more blows to the back of the heads of other spectators. In just a few seconds, a tsunami of total destruction broke out, like a saloon brawl from Hell's 7th circle.
Pushing and shoving their way through, Ben and Susan found themselves completely blocked in front of the stage. The musicians had stopped playing by then and just stood there looking around at the chaos of the nightclub, aware of the fact that the concert was ruined or was possibly their best and most successful gig ever.
An announcement was made that the show was over and the emergency exits were now open, while security was doing their best to maintain a semblance of peace and order.
Miraculously, they surfed through the crush of people and, once outside, could hear police sirens, announcing the arrival of the authorities.
Shocked but safe, they started walking home, ruminating about the events of the evening.
Why is it that our exits always have to end up in a bar fight? asked Susan.
As a matter of fact, it is pretty wild. It's almost as if you and I attract trouble. I'm sorry you didn't get to see the whole concert.
She smiled at his kindness.
I only wish I had told you what kind of concert we were going to see. I just assumed you would like them, too.
He tried not to make her feel bad, telling her a little white lie. No, don't worry about it. It was fun. Too bad it ended the way it did. Actually, I was enjoying myself. The rhythm of the music was starting to get in my blood. He added a little jig, but Susan wasn't falling for it and gave him a sideways look.