The Russos 3 Read online

  "I've read just about everything I could get my hands on about the band, and you were just a rumour for a long time," Tony laughed.

  Angelo grinned. "A rumour," he repeated. "That's kind of neat."

  "Better a rumour than nonexistent," Tony added with a trace of bitterness in his voice.

  Angelo looked at him. "Did you have such a bad life, Tony? I mean, I hear you were quite well off, your dad...stepdad is a doctor or something. Your mom owns a store. I know it's a different kind of life than what Uncle Johnny would have given you, but was it so bad, really? I mean, this celebrity shit isn't all that it's cracked up to be. There were times that I wished Dad wasn't a rock star. I couldn't go anywhere with him in public unless we were surrounded by people all the time. I couldn't have a Big Mac with him at McDonald's or go to Disneyland, or even walk down the street with him. I couldn't do that with either one of my uncles, either."

  "I never thought of that," Tony replied. "That must have been tough." He paused, thinking a minute. "To answer your question, I had a nice life, really, but it wasn't real. It was a lie."

  "Real? What in hell is real, anyway?" Angelo began to walk down the hallway. Tony fell into step beside him.

  "It was your life, the life you lived. It wasn't any less real than mine or anyone else's. Maybe your life was more real in some ways than mine. Everything is artificial out here."

  "I look at that man lying in the bed," Tony told him, "and I can't connect. I can't connect to him as my father. He feels like a stranger," Tony murmured.

  Angelo stopped and looked at him. "That's because he is a stranger. It's going to take time and he's in no shape now to be a father to you anyway. If he gets well..."

  "Do you think he will...get well?" Tony asked, his throat dry suddenly.

  Angelo paused, and then he threw an arm around his cousin and hugged his shoulders. "I don't know, Tony, I just don't know."

  * * * * * *

  One day turned into the next without any demarcation.

  Tony stayed with his aunt Janet and her son at night and spent his days at Johnny Russo's bedside. An entire week had slipped by almost unnoticed.

  He met his uncle Pepi and his grandmother the day after he arrived in L.A. They were really nice to him, but he still found it hard to look at these people and think of them as his family.

  It was his cousin Angelo he felt most at ease with. He spent hours talking with him, asking him questions about the family. In fact, he quizzed him so much that at one point, he apologized to him for taking up so much of his time.

  Angelo didn't seem to mind telling him stories about the band and being on the road with them. For the time being, he left out stuff like Uncle Johnny's cocaine addiction and his promiscuity. He didn't discuss the ugly side of their fathers' relationship. He wasn't trying to hide things, really. It was that Tony had just found his father after all these years. Perhaps now wasn't the time to tell him the negative things. He would hear them sooner or later.

  Janet had spent the last week expecting the police to show up at her door at any minute. They hadn't, and there had been no more harassing phone calls from Sandy. Whatever Sophia had said to Sandra on the phone, it seemed to have done the trick.

  Janet did suggest to Tony that he should call his mother to tell her he was okay, but he simply said, "No." She didn't push it.

  Johnny's condition had not changed, and there had been no news concerning Drake since early last week. It was Sunday already, and Drake was supposed to have been released by the end of the week.

  Janet had made a phone call to Frank early that morning, but he either wasn't at home or was still sleeping.

  She shared coffee and toast with Tony that morning, then called upstairs to wake up her son. He hopped in the shower, came downstairs, ate cereal and then they headed to the hospital.

  Angelo drove too fast as usual, and Janet nagged him a little about speeding.

  Angelo sighed, called her a backseat driver and slowed down almost to a crawl, which made her complain louder. Tony hid a smile.

  As soon as they stepped off the elevator at the hospital, a nurse came hurrying toward them.

  Something had happened.

  "Good morning," she said. "You won't be able to see Mr. Russo just yet, they have taken him down to the surgical unit."

  "Surgical unit?" Janet mouthed.

  "What happened?" Tony blinked. He turned to his cousin, who had no answer except to pat his shoulder a few times.

  "Oh, don't worry. The doctor will explain everything. Nothing out of the ordinary," the nurse explained. "Please have a seat, the doctor will be with you shortly."

  They sat down and tried not to panic, but that was impossible. It was over an hour and a half before the doctor came to join them. They all stood up as he moved toward them, his white coat flapping furiously as he walked.

  He introduced himself as Doctor Sumbra. He was a short man of African descent with a loud, choppy voice.

  "The Russo family." He smiled a toothy smile.

  "Please, sit. I'll do the same. We decided to insert a feeding tube this morning," he began before he was even comfortably seated. "We can't keep him on I.V. forever. He was growing weak. It's a simple procedure, really."

  Janet leaned forward. "Has there been any change at all in his condition?"

  The doctor reached over and took her hand, patting it a few times. "I'm sorry," he said.

  Tony swallowed. "What exactly are the chances he ever comes out of this?"

  The doctor pursed his lips. "He could wake up at any moment, young man, or he could remain in a coma for years."

  Angelo sighed. "Jesus," he muttered.

  "I know this may be uncomfortable for the family, but there may come a time when he can no longer breathe on his own. Right now, he is. If that time comes when we have to put him on life support, do you have any knowledge of his wishes? Does he have a living will?"

  Tears rolled down Janet's face. "I don't know."

  "He has no wife? Who speaks for him?" The doctor asked, turning to Angelo now.

  "I would think his mother," Angelo replied.

  Janet shook her head. "Drake. Drake speaks for Johnny."

  "His brother," the doctor repeated.

  Janet nodded.

  The doctor stood up. "Anyway, we're getting ahead of ourselves here. Let's hope for the best, shall we? We're doing all we can do for now. You can go in and see him after lunch, okay?"

  The three of them stood up and thanked Doctor Sumbra. He smiled at them, and then disappeared.

  For a while, no one said anything. Suddenly, Tony looked at his aunt. "Why did you say Drake speaks for Dad? I could understand Grandmother, or me even, but Drake is his brother. Why not Pepi, then?"

  Angelo placed a hand on Tony's arm. "Listen, Uncle Johnny would want my dad to be the one to make these decisions for him."

  "But why?" Tony asked. "Your dad was the one who put him in this position in the first place. He shot my father."

  Angelo was a little stunned at Tony's response. That hurt. It hurt a lot.

  Janet saw the pain in her son's eyes and took a deep breath. She knew that would probably be said eventually.

  Tony stood up. Something felt bad in the pit of his stomach. He regretted what he said, but he couldn't take back the words. He was going to apologise, but instead he walked away down the hall.

  Janet took her son's hand in hers.

  He allowed her to hold it for a few minutes, then pulled it away.

  "He didn't mean it, Angelo. He's just..."

  "But he's right. Dad did shoot Uncle Johnny."

  "It was an accident. They struggled for the gun, remember. You know your dad wouldn't shoot anyone, least of all Johnny."

  Angelo stood up. "I'm going to go for a walk. I'll be back later, okay?" He headed for the elevator.

  Tony stood at the end of the hall, and watched him leave.

  She saw her nephew bow his head. She got up and walked toward him.

&nbs
p; He was crying. She took him in her arms and rocked him as she had when he was an infant. "It's all right," she said softly. "Everything is going to be all right."

  * * * * * *

  Francine had Drake's release papers in her hand when she walked into the jail.

  The police officer sitting at the front desk checked them over, got up and took them off somewhere and then returned.

  "You can pick him up at eight o'clock tonight," the sergeant said gruffly.

  "Great. Can I see him, please?" she asked.

  He nodded, picked up the phone and waved his hand, indicating that she should wait over at the side of the room on the bench.

  She had called Frank Carr this morning, but couldn't get an answer. She would try again later.

  A few minutes later, she walked through the metal detector and was ushered into the same little room.

  She smiled at him.

  He smiled back. "You look happy," he commented.

  "As of eight o'clock tonight, you're a free man," she announced.

  He stood up. "Thank you," he said.

  "No little jig? I expected whoops and hollers." She eyed him.

  He gave her a rather sad smile. "I can't afford to be too excited right now. My brother may be dying, but thank you. Tonight, I'll be with him and that's all I want right now."

  "Should I pick you up?" she asked and then immediately regretted it. She had no business picking him up. In fact, she should tell him to find another lawyer.

  "Do you want to pick me up?" He grinned.

  "Ha, ha. Funny boy. I just meant..."

  "I know what you meant and no, it's okay. Carter will come in the limo. The press probably already knows I'm being released tonight. There will be reporters everywhere, and I don't want to say anything to the press right now."

  "Well, actually the limo might be more obvious than my car." What was she doing? What was she saying?

  He nodded thoughtfully. "You know, you're probably right. People will look for a limo. Okay. Come and pick me up at eight, then. I'll have to go home first and change...am I allowed to go into my house now?"

  "Yes, they have all the evidence they need," Francine said. "The yellow tape is still everywhere, but we can rip it down."

  "Good, we'll stop at my place and then I can take my car to the hospital. You can come with me if you like."

  "It will be my pleasure," she said, then decided she needed to leave before she agreed to do his laundry or have his baby or something.

  "I'm leaving now," she announced. "Bye, Drake. See you later."

  He lifted a hand. "See ya later."

  If she had been able to, she would have kicked herself really hard in the ass on the way out. Instead, she called Frank in the car on her cell phone and told him the news.

  He was delighted. "Yes! Yes!" he yelled into the receiver.

  Francine laughed.

  "So," Frank managed after he had calmed down, "did you tell Drake you wouldn't be representing him in the hearing?"

  "No. Instead, I offered to pick him up tonight, take him to his house and then accompany him to the hospital. Good compromise, don't you think?"

  "Wonderful. Sounds like you have everything under control. See ya later, Francine," Frank chuckled and rang off.

  Everything under control, Francine thought.

  She had never felt so out of control in her life.

  * * * * * *

  Angelo dialled his grandmother's hotel and asked for her suite.

  The phone rang several times before the person at the hotel came on and said, "No one seems to be answering, sir. Would you like to try back again later?"

  "Thanks," he said, "I'll do that."

  He tried Pepi's house and got his answering service, then he remembered that Pepi was staying at Uncle Johnny's house in Beverly Hills. He would try there.

  The phone picked up after two rings. It was Mac.

  "Oh, hi, Angelo. What's up?" Mac asked. "You at the hospital?"

  "I was. I left a while ago. I'm at Bernard's now."

  Bernard was one of Angelo's friends from high school. He played sax with a blues band at one of the clubs downtown. He hadn't seen him since he'd been back. In fact, he hadn't seen any of his old friends.

  "Is everything okay at the hospital?"

  "Well, they put in a feeding tube this morning and I don't know...Tony got on my nerves. I'll get over it. What are you guys doing?"

  "A feeding tube?" Mac said.

  "Ya, they'd have to do that sooner or later."

  "Did it go okay?"

  "I guess," Angelo replied with a sigh.

  There was a pause and then Mac said, "We promised Frank we would put the finishing touches on the latest CD. What with all that's happened, we're behind schedule and the record company won't give us any more time."

  "Shit. Can I help?" Angelo asked.

  "Ya. Actually, Pepi was saying this morning that we could probably use you today. Your dad is getting out tonight so he'll be able to work on it this week with us, but we promised Frank that..."

  "He is?"

  "He is what?"

  "Getting out tonight?" Angelo let out a yelp. "I didn't know. Does Grandma know?"

  "I don't know. We just heard about it. Pepi tried calling her at the hotel, and..."

  "She's not there. I bet I know where she went. Isn't there a Catholic church just down the street from the hotel?"

  "Maybe, but you're asking the wrong guy. I'm no authority on churches."

  Angelo laughed. "So, you want me to meet you at the studio?"

  "You can."

  "What time?"

  "Pep?" Mac held the phone away from his mouth and yelled, "What time are we leaving for the studio?"

  He heard his Uncle call back, "One o'clock."

  "One o'clock," Mac repeated.

  "Okay, I'll get Bernie to drop me off. See ya then."

  "See ya, don't forget your guitar."

  "No, I'll swing by and pick it up."

  "Bye then," Mac said and hung up.

  Bernie walked out on the balcony and handed him a glass of Long Island Iced Tea.

  "Thanks, man," Angelo replied. He took a sip and made an appreciative sound.

  Bernie came back with a glass for himself and a reefer. He sat down beside his friend and lit it, inhaled deeply a few times and then passed it to Angelo.

  It was good shit. He always liked hash best. It tasted almost as good as the kind his dad had got in Columbia once.

  "You know," Angelo passed it back to Bernie. "I can't remember the last time I smoked a joint."

  "Come on. You didn't smoke in Paris?"

  Angelo shook his head. "Nope, not Paris, Amsterdam. Shit, they smoke there like it's going out of style. I was stoned for three whole days once."

  Bernie laughed, inhaling again. He went to pass it back to Angelo, but he shook his head. His dad had taught him a very simple thing, telling him, "Everything is better in moderation." He had certainly tossed that out in Amsterdam. Nothing was moderate there. Ya, his dad had told him not to deprive himself of anything, but had warned him to know his limits. "If you want to get high," he said, "smoke a reefer once in a while, but stay away from the strong stuff, it will finish you."

  It was good advice. He had tried coke once; he didn't like it. He hated needles, so heroin would be out of the question and he didn't like hallucinogenics. No, give him a good joint once in a while, and that was more than enough.

  Bernie was laughing now, making some joke about the bartender where he worked. Angelo laughed too.

  An hour later, Bernie pulled his car up into his driveway in Malibu. Angelo got his guitar and came back out.

  "Are you sure," Angelo asked him as they headed for the studio, "that you don't want to hang out with us while we record?"

  "I'd love to, man, but we're auditioning a new drummer this afternoon. Hank quit."

  "Hank quit?" Angelo mouthed. "How come? I thought you guys were tight."

  "He got married, and
his old lady wants him to get a nine to five job."

  "He's going to hate it."

  "I know, but what can you do."

  The traffic was heavy downtown, and Bernie was driving a little recklessly. Angelo was relieved when he pulled up outside the studio.

  He got out and then leaned into the window.

  "Thanks. Look, maybe I'll come down to the club tonight and listen to you play. I could use a little R and R."

  "Cool. Bring your guitar. You can jam with us if you want," Bernard suggested. "Are you going to play with those guys again that you were with before, at that rock club?"

  "Naw, not this year," Angelo shook his head, lifting his guitar case up under his arm. "I've kind of outgrown them. I really want to play with Dad, but he's on this paying-your-dues trip. I'm going to look around for a new arrangement for now."

  Bernard nodded. "I know a guy...a drummer, he's good. You might be interested in checking him out."

  "Who's he with?"

  "A bar band called Hindsight, but he's not happy with them." Bernie checked his rear view mirror. "I'll track him down and then one night we'll get together, okay?"

  "Sure man," Angelo said, stepping away from the car. He raised a hand. "Just give me a call."

  Bernie blew his horn and sped away from the curb.

  * * * * * *

  Sophia stood at the door of Johnny's room and watched her grandson as he gently adjusted the pillow under his father's head. She tilted her head a little and studied the boy for a minute. He looked so much like Johnny when he was that age. It was uncanny.

  She cleared her throat suddenly and walked in.

  Tony looked up and smiled at her. "Hello," he said.

  He still hadn't called her Grandmother yet. That was something she was sure would come later on. Poor kid.

  She really resented that mother of his. How dare she deprive Tony of his family? She had no right to do that.