The Russos 1 Read online

  Janet nodded. "Will you speak to the press this evening, tell them that...?"The question hung in the air.

  Dr. Sandborn cleared his throat. "The hospital will issue a brief statement this evening to say that Mr. Russo has come through the surgery and is in stable, but critical condition, then depending on what the lawyers say..."

  Janet nodded as they shook her hand again, and then headed off down the hallway. She watched them until they disappeared and then wondered if she should go looking for Mac. She decided to let him be on his own for a while. She had a lot she needed to think about herself.

  She sat down and dug in her purse for her address book with the tattered edges and crossed-out names.

  She rummaged through it and found what she was looking for. She studied the address, the phone number and then put it back in her purse. She got up and poured herself some coffee. She gulped it, and wished she had something stronger.

  She was just about to pour another when she heard voices coming from the end of the corridor. She recognized the slow, monotone voice of Dr. Monroe, rising and falling in a tempo meant to calm. Seconds later, she heard another voice, loud and laced with anguish. She knew that voice. It belonged to Pepi.

  * * * * * *

  It was after ten when Tony finally decided to go back home. He didn't want to go alone so Sam came with him. Tony sighed and stood at the edge of the driveway. His mother's car was still in the same place, but now his father's four by four was missing.

  Maybe he went looking for Mom.

  "What's wrong?" Sam asked him.

  "I don't know. Now Dad is gone, and every light in the house is on."

  "Why don't we go inside? Maybe your mom is back and your dad went to the video store or something."

  It was true that they often rented movies on Friday night. Tony shivered in his light jacket. They had been all over town. No one had seen his mom and in a town of just twenty thousand people, a lot of people knew one another. They had even stopped by Francine Letourneau's house. She was his mom's best friend. Francine told them that she hadn't even heard from his mom at all today. She looked concerned.

  Tony took a breath and turned to Sam. "Come in with me, okay?"

  Sam rolled his eyes heavenward with a 'you're exaggerating' look on his face, but followed him up the path to the front door anyway. He had spent all evening trying to convince him that his parents were the last people on earth who were getting a divorce, but knew that he had failed. It was true that a lot of stuff didn't make much sense, like Tony's dad crying in the kitchen, but Sam still couldn't believe that they were going to divorce.

  The door was unlocked. Tony entered, calling out to his mother. Sam moved into the living room and sat down while Tony walked down the hallway to his parent's bedroom. He could see that the lamp on the night table was on. The door stood halfway open, so he knocked and then opened it. "Mom?" he said.

  Sandra Newton sat up in bed. She was lying fully dressed on top of the comforter, a washcloth across her forehead.

  "Mom? Are you all right? Are you sick?" Tony asked, coming over to the bed. "Where have you been? I've been all over town looking for you, and..."

  "I'm all right," she replied weakly. She took the washcloth away from her face. "Is your father back yet?"

  "I don't think so. Did he go to the video store?" He looked at her. Something was wrong, very wrong.

  "No. He'll be back. Listen to me, Tony," she reached out and clutched his hand, "I'm going to have to go away for a few days. I'm going to close the store. I want you..."

  "Go where?" Tony blinked. "Are you sick, Mom? Is that what it is?"

  "No. I'm not sick," she sighed. "Sit here beside me, okay?"

  Tony sat down. She placed her cold hands on his face and smiled at him. "I love you. No matter what happens in the next few days, I want you to remember that."

  "Mom, you're scaring me. Stop it," Tony said, moving away from her. He stood up, his voice rising to a frenzied pitch. "Tell me where you were tonight! Tell me why Dad was crying in the kitchen! Are you and Dad splitting up?"

  "This isn't about your mother and I," a voice spoke from behind him suddenly.

  Tony turned around to see his father standing in the doorway.

  His mother got up off the bed and glared at his father. "I told you before, I won't let you...I won't let you do this! Tony, leave, leave this room now while I talk to your..."

  "No!" Tom Newton stepped into the room and took Tony by the arm. "You stay right where you are."

  Tony's eyes moved from his father to his mother and then back again.

  "I told you no, Tom! If you do this...I'm begging you...I'm begging you..." she was pleading, tears rolling down her face. "I'll get on my knees if I have to...I..."

  She fell on the floor in front of them.

  "Mom!" Tony cried in alarm, attempting to reach out to her.

  "Leave her," Tom barked angrily. "It's time she told you the truth...it's time we both tell the truth before it finishes us. I should have never allowed this. I tried to tell myself that you did it for Tony, but you did it for yourself." Tom Newton's voice was filled with bitterness. "You still love him..." His voice broke, and he released Tony's arm. "You have never stopped loving him, and you wanted to punish him because he no longer loves you."

  Sandra looked up at her husband, her eyes wide.

  "Please don't...think of what you're giving up as well."

  "I'll take my chances," Tom nodded, wiping the tear away which rolled down his face. "Now, I'll leave the two of you alone. I'll give you a few minutes to tell him what you should have...what we should have years ago, and if you don't, I'm coming back in here and tell him myself." He turned to leave the room. "I'm going to drive Sam home."

  Sandra got up off the floor. "Tom," she said softly.

  He paused but didn't turn around.

  "You were right about one thing." Her voice was clear and cold. "I do still love him, but I wasn't bitter about him not loving me anymore because...he never loved me...never!"

  "Unlike me," Tom murmured and left the room.

  "I hate you!" she screamed. "I hate you for making me do this!"

  Tony had backed up into the corner of the room.

  Tears were in his eyes, and he couldn't believe what he had just heard and seen. He understood less now than he thought he had before. He was frozen to the spot. He watched his mother light a cigarette, pace, and then stop and look at him.

  "You are the dead-on image of him. Didn't anyone ever tell you how much you looked like him? I was always afraid of that, especially when you and Sam became obsessed with them as kids." She spoke as if to herself. She sat down at her vanity and studied her face in the mirror. She puffed on the cigarette. "There were so many ways you could have figured it out. I tried to cover all bases, but I couldn't keep you from watching television, or listening to music. And then there was always the possibility that he would show up at the door one day, but he never did. Maybe he thought he deserved to be punished, who knows."

  Her voice remained quiet for a moment, then she let out a sigh. "I don't know if there was ever a time...oh well, doesn't matter now. All that matters now is you."

  She watched him as he forced himself to move out of the corner. His feet moved across the hardwood floor with its braided rug and he felt as if he weighed a thousand pounds; each step was labored. He had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. He stood behind her now. "Mother," he managed, "please...please tell me what the hell you're talking about?" He was afraid that she had somehow suddenly lost her mind.

  She reached up for his hand and pulled it onto her shoulder, covering it with her own. "I remember your birthday two years ago. You came to me begging to let you go to Toronto to see them in concert. I hesitated for so long that by the time I finally decided I couldn't deny you something you wanted that badly, there were no more tickets available except at the Toronto box office. We drove to Toronto. I spent the night in the car, and you and Sam," she laughed
harshly, "you and poor Sam stood outside all night with a gang of other people waiting for the place to open."

  Tony nodded. "Yes, and then we didn't get to go. They were all sold out, but Mom...what does this have to do with...?"

  "The irony of it," Sandra squeezed his hand, "Johnny's own son not being able to get into his concert. There's something quite tragic about it." Two tears rolled down her face.

  Tony gasped. "Mom...Mom...what do you...you can't mean that Johnny Russo is...Mom..." She had lost it. Perhaps she had this fantasy about Johnny Russo or she was in the early stages of dementia.

  "Listen," she stood up and grabbed his shoulders suddenly. Tony looked at her with alarm. She shook him hard. "Johnny Russo is your biological father. I was married to him briefly a long time ago. It didn't work out because...because he's sick, and I don't want you to..."

  Tom Newton came into the room suddenly, and forced his wife's hands off her son. "He has a right to see him," he told her. "He may die, and by God if Tony wants to go to L.A. to see his father...then I'll make sure he gets there!"

  Tony blanched. It was true. It was all true. The room began to spin. He swallowed something that tasted like vomit. He felt as if he was going to be sick.

  His mother was yelling at his father again. His father. Tom Newton wasn't his father. My God. He tried to focus on what she was saying. She was telling him to stay out of it. She was crying again, blaming him for all of this.

  Tony suddenly let out a yell. "Stop it! Just fucking stop it!"

  Tom and Sandra Newton froze, their eyes riveted to their son.

  "Mom," Tony said calmly, his hands shaking, "you had no right to keep this from me and I still want you to explain to me why you lied, and why I wasn't allowed to see my father."

  She opened her mouth to interrupt but he held up a hand and shook his head. "Not now...when you have calmed down, and Dad," he looked at Tom, "you'll always be my father, no matter what. I love you. Right now, I need to be alone. Do me a favor and stop fighting. What's done is done." With that, he turned and left the room.

  A few minutes later, Sandra was alone in the house for the second time that evening. She walked over to the window and looked outside. Tom had taken the four by four. Tony had left on foot. Maybe he'd spend the night at Sam's. She hoped that he'd be all right.

  She went and lay down on the bed. She should call, cancel her flight to L.A. There was no longer any reason to go, except that Johnny could be dying, and...

  She closed her eyes. She didn't want to think about the fact that he could die. Her head pounded. She had drunk too much. She began drifting away, which was good.

  * * * * * *

  Angelo didn't want to talk to the reporter that sat next to him in the plane. He was a little bald guy in his mid-forties who worked for some gossip magazine in L.A. He had been sent to London to follow up on the car crash that had killed Lady Di.

  "A fresh angle," he announced. "All I needed was a fresh angle." He opened his laptop. "But now," he said, "I've been called back home where the real action is. I'm going to put all the Lady Di stuff on hold because what's really hot is the Russo thing."

  Angelo glanced around. Christ, sometimes life really sucked. First, all this shit with his family and now he ended up sitting right next to a goddamned reporter who just couldn't shut up about it. The only blessing was that the guy had no idea who he was.

  All he wanted was to be alone, to allow himself time to digest what he had heard on the news.

  He had been in a pub when he had heard it. He had been waiting to meet these guys who were looking for a second guitarist and someone to do vocals. He had heard them play a few nights before in a club. They were good, solid musicians and he was really anxious to jam with them.

  Anyway, if they did finally show up, he never knew about it because shortly after he arrived at the pub, the B.B.C made the announcement on the television over the bar. He got up and went back to the room he had rented near Piccadilly Circus, threw his few belongings into his beat-up old duffle bag, grabbed his guitar and headed for the airport.

  The man beside him was still talking, tapping away now on his laptop at the same time. "If you ask me," the man told him, "this closeness between the brothers was all a crock...a publicity stunt. I think Drake and Johnny have always hated one another. For me, there was sibling rivalry. When Drake won that guitar award, and..."

  "Listen," Angelo smiled wearily at him, "this is all very fascinating, but I'm really tired and I think I'm going to try and catch some sleep, okay?"

  "Sure," the man said. "No problem."

  Angelo closed his eyes. God, the guy couldn't be further off-base with this sibling rivalry stuff. Dad and Uncle Johnny had never been jealous of each other's musical accomplishments.

  But then, it didn't matter what the press printed. It was always ninety percent horseshit with a bit of twisted truth thrown in to give it some legitimacy. He remembered reading stories about his Dad and uncles when he would travel with them on tour. It was always a howl to read. He remembered the one time Dad tripped over a cord that one of the roadies forgot to secure. Some press heard his dad scream at the roadie, "What in hell is wrong with you, Rodger, are you trying to kill me?"

  The next day, the headline in one of the leading rags read, 'Ex-Con Roadie tries to kill Drake Russo'.

  There was a whole story on Rodger Mercury who had been in prison years before on a simple possession charge. Rodger also liked to play guitar. So, all of a sudden the ex-con roadie tried to kill the rock star because he was jealous of his success. No one ever knew what Rodger had been convicted of. Needless to say, there were many more stories like that one.

  But what had just happened was not just another story in the tabloids. It was all over national television. Funny how all this didn't really surprise him. Not that he wasn't shocked about the shooting, just that he somehow knew, one day something bad was going to happen.

  There was always so much tension between them.

  When they got along, it was wonderful. Drake had never seen two brothers who cared more. But when they fought, it was ugly and it affected everyone around them. It was painful to watch them because they loved each other so much, but yet there was something really terrible underneath that no one ever wanted to talk about, something that was tearing them apart. He noticed it had grown worse since last summer.

  He discretely checked his watch so that the reporter next to him wouldn't notice that he was awake. He would arrive in L.A. around suppertime.

  He did try to call his mother before he left, but got the answering machine. She was probably at the hospital.

  One of the stewards walked by, offering refreshments. Angelo opened his eyes and smiled at her. "Just a Diet Coke, thanks."

  She handed him an ice-filled glass filled with cola.

  She returned his smile. God, he was handsome.

  Beautiful eyes, the color of liquid chocolate... long black hair...broad shoulders, great body. He reminded her of some celebrity, although she couldn't think who. She let her eyes linger on his mouth as he spoke to her, lower lip slightly fuller than the other, a mouth made for kissing.

  "Miss?"

  She mentally slapped herself. "Yes, sir."

  "A pillow when you get around to it, okay? Thanks," he said, settling down and closing his eyes before Mr. Talkative could begin his endless chatter.

  She ran her gaze over him again before handing the guy beside him his gin and ginger ale. Suddenly she remembered where she had seen him.

  "Excuse me...sir..." her voice was excited.

  Angelo opened his eyes. "Yes?" Oh, God, she had recognized him. He could see it in her eyes.

  He stood up immediately and took her elbow before she could continue. He turned her gently into the aisle, his lips at her ear. People were staring.

  "Please," he told her, "I'm traveling incognito, okay. The man beside me is a reporter and if he discovers who I am, I won't get a moment's peace. I'll be eternally grateful to you if
you help me to keep a low profile. I'm dealing with a lot right now. I really can't deal with the press."

  She turned her face to his and smiled. "I'm on stop-over in L.A. for a few days. I know that it's probably a bad time for you, but..."

  "Write down a number where I can reach you," he whispered close to her cheek. "I'll call if I get some time, and thank you."

  She nodded and then said in a loud voice, "I will be bringing your pillow, sir."

  He took his seat and closed his eyes again. He felt sleazy. He had done something his father would have done, agreed to take a phone number he had no intention of ever calling. Oh, well, you did what you had to do. Imagine that girl thinking that with his dad in prison and his uncle near death, he would take time to go out on a date with her.

  His parents had tried to keep him out of the media, and they had done a good job. When he was a kid, no one ever knew that Drake was his dad, but when he got older and went on tour with them, people asked questions. He did look like his father. His dad was in his mid-thirties, but stayed in great shape. They were beginning to look more like brothers than father and son. They were both over six feet, slim, muscular with long black hair and dark eyes. The press began taking pictures of him and it had just begun to be known before he left on his travels that Drake had an eighteen-year-old son.

  Leaving to travel around Europe had kept him out of the papers for a while, but some people did recognize him from time to time. Now, he was sure that his face was soon to be plastered all over the papers, especially if there was to be a trial or worse, a funeral. He couldn't picture Johnny dead.

  His uncle Johnny meant the world to him. He had always treated him like a second son. He and Dad had taught him how to play guitar. They were special, all three brothers...and Mac, of course. His dream had been to someday join the band, although Dad had told him that he had to try and make it on his own first. "You have to start from the bottom, experience the hardships, know what it means to struggle and then," his father had told him, "maybe, if you're good enough, I'll make you a member of the Russo Brothers Band. If it's too easy, you'll never learn to really appreciate it. You'll get too arrogant, you'll become lazy and you'll let the band down."