Bronx Noir

He then flung himself into one of the plastic beanie bag “chairs” in the same ugly hue. He bounced around, legs flying upward, to show the fun of them.

She ignored him and continued down the dark hall. Frank dashed after her. The bathroom was small and also dark. She entered the next room and gasped. It was a nursery. Painted in blue. No furniture yet, but toys. Little boy’s toys.

He grinned at her and shrugged. “Just thinking ahead.”

Not here, never in this place, she thought.

He opened the master bedroom door for her with a flourish. She moved straight to the windows. She was chagrined to see they faced directly onto the courtyard. One of the kids on a bicycle rode by and stuck his tongue out at her. She quickly closed the curtains.

Frank continued his spiel. “And here’s our boudoir. And there’s our honeymoon bed, sweetheart.”

Finally she turned to him, red in the face. “Shut up! Shut up!”

That night, with great trepidation, she met Frank’s family—aunts, uncles, cousins, and siblings—as they introduced themselves en masse at the big dinner held in the newlyweds’ honor across the street in his parents’ side of the two-family building. Too many people pushed in close to meet her. And to offer congratulations to the son who became a doctor. Frank’s brother-in-law, Al, laughed. “Yeah, he’d do anything so he wouldn’t have to work in the restaurant.” Much agreeable laughter at that. She was offered antipasto, which she refused. And she was presented with more names she wouldn’t remember.

“Our spaghetti sauce cooks for four hours, our secret recipe,” Mama Lombardi told her proudly as she doled her out a huge portion. But Linda merely moved her fork around the plate.

“You marry a girl with no appetite?” Papa Lombardi asked, astonished.

Frank laughed. “Hey, she’s gotta get used to you guys. Get your garlic breaths off of her. Let her breathe air.”

After a massive dinner of six courses, which Linda only picked at, they finally reached the spumoni and espresso. The men lit up their huge cigars. And Mama asked the inevitable question.

“Linda, where are your folks?”

She spoke in a low, flat voice. “I have no family. I’m an orphan.”

There was a silence at that. Mama crossed herself.

Frank put his arm around his wife. “Well, honey bun, you sure have one now.”

The tense moment over, Papa grinned and said, “Welcome to la famiglia.”

Frank turned the key in the lock and made his way back through the foyer into his parents’ living room.

Knowing his brother could hear him, Vincent said, “It’s what I always said about him. Frankie’s such an easygoing guy. Ya have to kick him in the ass three times before he knows you’re mad at him.”

His sister Connie grinned. “Yeah, what a pushover. Girls always take advantage of him.”

Frank addressed his siblings, also grinning. “Thanks for nothing. You’re just jealous.”

They laughed.

The immediate family was sitting around drinking more espresso “She’s all right?” Mama offered him a cup.

“Just tired. Been a long day with a lot of new things to get used to.”

Papa said, “I like her. She’s quiet.”

Mama gave him a gentle hit across his head. “You always were a sucker for the blondes.” She patted her pitch-black hair, with the slight gray feathering at her forehead, and winked at him.

They sat quietly digesting.

Mama couldn’t resist a shot of guilt. “You had to go and elope? And disappoint the whole family?”

“Mama, what else could I do? I told you, Linda had no one to invite. I didn’t want to make her unhappy on her wedding day.” Mama sighed. “I understand. So, all right, she met everyone tonight.”

“And we saved a bundle in wedding costs,” Papa commented with satisfaction.

“And you lost a bundle in wedding gifts you didn’t get, dummy,” Connie laughed.

“I’m such a lucky guy.” Frank sipped his espresso.

“She’s not Catholic.” Mama poured Papa his after-dinner Strega.

“Well, she ain’t Jewish.” Al beckoned his mother-in-law for another refill.

Connie put her two cents in. “Not Irish either.” She pretended mock horror. “You mean we’ve got a Protestant in the family?” She laughed. “She will be so alone in this neighborhood.”

Linda was alone but not for cultural or religious reasons. Linda belonged only to the darkness within herself. In the numbing blackness of a fog that never lifted. In a mind that shut off unbearable memories. She left the apartment only when she had to. She spent her days reading forgettable books or watching mindless television. She cleaned the house obsessively and cooked simple meals that filled the belly, but not the imagination. She waited for time to pass. She waited for a way to get out of here.

For a month, Frank whizzed about in a whirlwind of happiness, insensitive to his wife’s lack of interest. Getting the office fixed up. Getting flyers out into the neighborhood. Though it seemed word of mouth was enough. Mayer’s gone, come see the new young doctor. They were lining up at his door.