The Russos 1 Page 6

  He had been so pissed when Dad had told him that, but there was some wisdom in what he said.

  Only now, it didn't matter because there was no Russo Brothers Band to aspire to. It could be all over, everything that they had worked all these years for, and it would kill his father. It would kill them all, because they wouldn't be able to live without making music. It was in their blood. It was in his blood now.

  His mother would hate it, but he had decided that he wasn't going to college. He was going to make music, because he was good at it and it was all he wanted to do.

  The plane would be landing soon, and he had managed to get through this flight without being discovered. He desperately wanted to see his dad, to be with his uncles. His mom, Mac and probably Grandma would be at the hospital now. He had missed them all, but this wasn't the reunion he wanted.

  As the wheels touched down on the runway, he suddenly panicked. He was afraid. What if Uncle Johnny had already died while he was in the air?

  What if something had happened to his dad? What if he had crumbled under the pressure of it all? He had seen his dad at his worst; drunk, miserable, speaking about life as if it were a curse, rather than a gift. How was Mom taking all this? She still loved Dad, even if she didn't say so.

  The plane came to a standstill. The reporter started chattering again, shutting up his laptop. He stood up, waiting for Angelo to do the same. Angelo picked up his duffle bag and began to file out behind the others.

  The reporter leaned over and said in his ear, "I'm excited now. Things are really heating up in the Russo thing. I just got an e-mail message from my boss. The D.A. has charged Drake Russo with attempted murder, and from what I hear about Johnny's condition, they'll change it to murder soon enough.

  I've got work to do and it's going to be fast paced. The press are going to be on the trail like hounds in a fox hunt. Look for my byline, kid."

  Angelo's heart fell to his feet. He forced himself to keep moving. His eyes filled with tears, which he forced back. Dad, his mind screamed. Oh God, Dad, no!

  * * * * * *

  Sophia shook her head adamantly. "He has a right to know, Janet. Phone that crazy friend of yours and demand to..."

  "Mama," Pepi interrupted. "Calm down, you're upset. Look, eat your chicken, it's getting cold."

  They were in a luxury suite at one of Los Angeles finest hotels. After visiting Johnny at the hospital that afternoon, they all needed to rest. Since a restaurant was out of the question, having food sent up here to Mama's suite allowed them to all be together without the press.

  It had been a day from hell and Pepi didn't want to ever live through another like it, but he had a feeling that tomorrow wouldn't be any better. The press were following them everywhere. He didn't dare step out the door or answer a phone. And if that wasn't enough, his mother nearly collapsed when she saw Johnny lying like he was dead in the hospital. Then when he finally convinced her to leave Johnny's room, she was bound and determined that she was going to visit Drake. It took him almost an hour to try and explain to her why Drake wouldn't want her to see him in jail. On top of all that, at the very end of the day, the district attorneys' office publicly announced that they were laying formal charges against his brother.

  Pepi looked around the room, taking a sip of the dry red wine; a very good vintage, but it tasted like sawdust. Mac sat over on the brocade sofa now, smoking a cigarette. He had eaten little. No one had much of an appetite after today. Mama hadn't touched her food, and Janet merely played with hers.

  "You know I don't need all this," Mama waved her hand around the room. "This is a waste, overpriced and...a person could get lost in here."

  The suite was fit for royalty. It consisted of four rooms and a bath. The floors were adorned with red plush carpets. The furniture was deep walnut. There was a brass bed with a canopy in the bedroom, gold-rimmed mirrors and crystal chandeliers.

  "Mama, we're rich. Stop it." Pepi sighed. Mama had never accepted the fact that she could have had anything she wanted. She had stubbornly fought them when they wanted to buy her a new house, a car with a driver to take her around New York. It was annoying, really. She had insisted on living in that old working-class house in Brooklyn where they had grown up.

  Sophia clicked her tongue while Pepi managed to get down a piece of chicken. "Fraud. The rich get richer, and the poor pay for it." She pushed her plate away and folded her arms across her thin chest.

  "Janet," she looked at her former daughter-in-law.

  "Call your friend and make her put my grandson on the line. I'll tell him myself that his father may be dying. Enough is enough."

  Mac cleared his throat. "I agree with Sophia. Johnny's son should know that his father is..." He paused. "That he is unwell, and..."

  Pepi nodded at Janet. "I know it's going to be tough, but these are exceptional circumstances."

  Sophia shook her head. She narrowed her dark eyes at her. "She kept my grandson from knowing about his heritage. She has lied to him. She broke my son's heart, and..."

  Janet had all she could do to hold her tongue. She knew that this was not the time to tell her just what she thought of her. Oh, Sophia was a good enough soul. She doted on her grandson, but she was too damned protective of her boys, especially when it came to Drake. When they got divorced, Sophia told her over the phone that she was shocked to hear that they were splitting up. Although she didn't come right out and say it, she insinuated that she must have done something to drive him away. She felt like telling her that she had done everything but tear out her heart to keep Drake, but that he was just too damned close to his brother.

  Anyway, for the time being, she would keep her temper. She issued Sophia a smile and said, "In all fairness, Sophia, I do think that the divorce was hard on Sandy. I don't agree with what she did, but I understand it."

  "Understand...understand..." She threw up her hands. "And my grandson, your boy, where is he, by the way? Shouldn't my grandson be with his family now?"

  "It wasn't my idea to allow Angelo to traipse all over Europe, Sophia." She smiled tightly.

  Pepi gave Janet a 'I know she's getting on your nerves' look and came over to place his hands on his mother's shoulders. "Never mind all that now, Mama. Janet is going to try and reach Sandy, okay? Drake Junior will be here when he gets here. He's a grown man."

  Janet smiled at Pepi in gratitude. Then she searched in her bag and pulled out her little telephone book. Getting up, she went over to the telephone. She hesitated for a moment. There wasn't a sound in the room. She picked up the phone. "Yes," she said, "this is suite four. Please give me an outside line."

  * * * * * *

  When Angelo woke up, he couldn't believe it was nine-thirty. It felt kind of strange to sleep in his own bed again after almost a year. He stretched, yawned and got up. He pulled off his jeans and his socks, and walked naked into the bathroom. He turned on the shower with the six different spray heads and closed his eyes, letting the hot water saturate his skin. He reached for some organic shampoo his mother had sitting on the shower shelf and washed his long hair.

  When he got out, he shaved except for the moustache, which he thought made him look older. He unzipped his bag, found clean underwear and socks and looked in his closet for jeans and a shirt. He settled for faded Levis and a white T-shirt, and threw on his old faithful tan leather jacket that was looking pretty battered now.

  He grabbed a piece of cheese out of the refrigerator and then searched the drawers for the key to his motorcycle. It was a vintage model, a chrome monster Harley that his mother begged him not to buy, but he did anyway. He had missed his bike. After almost fifteen minutes of frantic searching, he found the key.

  She had put it in the drawer with all the odds and ends. He turned on the security system and went into the garage. He hit the garage door opener and the door cranked upwards. There she was, sitting over in the corner, just the way he'd left her, covered up with heavy plastic. He'd have to take it in for a tune-up. He hoped ther
e was some gas left in her.

  He'd ride over to the hospital. That must be where his mother, Mac and Uncle Pepi were. He removed the dusty cover, ran a loving hand over the leather seat and straddled the bike. A few minutes later, he was out of the garage and roaring down the road and out onto the highway. He flipped on the stereo and turned up the music. They were playing one of the Russo Brothers' latest tunes. He liked this one. He began to sing the words as he stopped for a red light.

  "Baby, baby, give me tonight...I won't ask for anything more. I know it's wrong...but I can never let go. I love you...I want you far more than you know..."

  Suddenly, he looked in his rearview mirror and sucked in a breath. There were two cars behind him.

  Press. One of them, a red Subaru was trying to maneuver up beside him. There was a man in the other car, a dark sedan, who was rolling down the passenger side window and sticking a mike out into the air. "Drake...Drake...." he called, shouting out his proper first name. "Have you seen your dad yet? What has all this done to your family? Drake...just a few minutes..."

  Angelo watched the light anxiously. "Shit!" When the light changed, he slammed down on the gas and roared through the intersection. Increasing his speed, he spotted an alleyway. He turned the corner sharp, swerving, nearly toppling, then righting the bike. He came out the other side. He was going too fast. He nearly rammed into a parked car before he could stop. He pulled the bike to the side of the street and closed his eyes. His heart was beating heavily in his chest. "Damn! Goddamn!" He had come close to having one hell of an accident, and he hadn't even bothered to wear his helmet.

  After a few minutes, he turned the key to the ignition again and rolled on down the street at a speed that was more than respectable. He turned at the next intersection and headed for the private hospital where his uncle was.

  When he arrived, he was surprised to find it fairly quiet. Except for a few police cars and Frank's 'monkey men', as he had always called them, the crowds were small...just a few diehard fans keeping vigil for Johnny, candles glowing. Some were singing and strumming guitars in tribute to the Russo Brothers' music.

  He parked his bike in the visitor's parking lot and began walking toward the main door, keeping his eyes peeled for the press. Just as he was preparing to mount the steps to the door, a potbellied policeman sauntered over to him.

  He ran his eyes critically over the long windblown hair, faded jeans and battered jacket, and then demanded to see some identification.

  "I think I should tell you, young man," the police officer took the driver's license Angelo offered him and studied it, "this is a private hospital. What exactly is your business here?"

  "I'm here to see my Uncle. I'm Drake Russo's son."

  The cop blinked and looked at the license again. "It says here your name is Smith."

  "My mom's name is Smith," Drake told him.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Smith, I can't let you go wandering around that hospital without prior authorization for security reasons. Now, I understand," he placed a fatherly hand on Drake's shoulder and turned him around, "maybe people your age want to meet rock stars, but I assure you that Johnny Russo is in no shape to deal with fans at this time."

  "I'm not a fan, goddamn it," Angelo jerked away from him. "I'm his nephew. Listen, at least bring one of those monkey---one of Frank's security guys over here. Maybe he can at least tell me where my family is."

  The cop nodded. "Okay, but you stay right here, no tricks, and you better not be wasting my time. I'll take your I.D. with me."

  Angelo watched the policeman wander over toward the underground parking. Ha, this was supposed to be Los Angeles' finest. The guy was at least fifty pounds overweight. His grandmother could outrun him.

  The kids at the edge of the parking lot were now bellowing out the chorus from 'Rock Heaven', an old tune of his dad's, a classic now. "I'm in rock heaven, better than lovin'...better than drugs....better than kissing...rock me...rock me my whole life long."

  Angelo hummed along for a while. He had played this song so often on his guitar that his fingers moved in his pockets as if they were moving over the strings.

  He noticed now that several of Frank's monkey men had emerged from the parking lot and were checking him out. After a few minutes, a beefy-looking guy with a brush cut said something to the cop and then began walking toward him. He straightened his tie and adjusted his belt, making sure Angelo saw the flash of metal at his waist, as if this was a necessary prelim to what ever was to come. The man held his license between his thick fingers.

  "Mr. Smith," he said, handing his license back to him. "May we be of service in some way, sir?"

  Angelo sighed. "Look, I'm Drake Russo, Drake Angelo Smith Russo, if it makes it easier. I just came to see if my family was still here and to check on my uncle. I didn't realize it was going to be such a damned challenge to get into the hospital!"

  "It's a private hospital, sir, and you have to understand that anyone could claim to be Johnny Russo's relative. We've had people pretending to be his mother, his sister, his cousin...you name it, and I'm sorry if you are who you say you are. I've no authorization to let you in."

  Angelo nodded. "Okay, fine, but can you at least tell me if my mother and uncle are inside? Maybe you can call and let them know I'm here. I just got in from Europe a few hours ago, and I'm anxious to know how my uncle is doing."

  "Well, you go on home now and watch the television. They'll tell you all about it," the man said with an icy smile.

  There was little he could do except have the son of a bitch fired when he got a hold of Frank. "Great, I'll do that, but you know what, we're going to see each other again, you and I, and when we do, you're going to be on your way to the unemployment centre."

  "Look, punk, don't threaten me. Go on home, smoke a reefer and get yourself laid...a good-looking guy like you shouldn't have any problem. If I were off-duty, I might even be willing to give you an education...one you wouldn't forget." In spite of what he was suggesting, the stern expression on his face never altered.

  Angelo laughed at him and then sobered. "Believe me, buddy, you'd be the last man on my list, even if I was fucking desperate, and I wouldn't be so quick to presume who would be doing the educating."

  The man's face drained of color as Angelo looked him in the eye. "I wish you a good night. Enjoy pushing your weight around; it will be the last time. Not only will you never again work for the studio, I'll fix it so you won't ever work in this town again, you piece of shit."

  The man grabbed him roughly by the arm.

  Angelo pulled away. "Don't add assault to the list." He stood his ground for a few minutes. They glared at each other and then the security man turned and walked away. Angelo breathed a sigh of relief.

  He really didn't feel like wrestling with that guy.

  He walked back to where he had parked his bike. It was almost midnight. The kids were still singing. He closed his eyes. It was times like these that he wished he wasn't part of all this. If his uncle were just an average guy in a regular hospital, he'd be in there now. He could ask the nurse to tell him how his uncle was doing and there would be no security men, no suspicious glances, no need for I.D and interrogations. He would just be a nephew wanting to see his uncle.

  He thought about going home, but he wasn't tired.

  He felt restless, afraid for his dad, for his uncle. He didn't want to be alone. He didn't want to think too much about what had happened. He wanted to hear music, dance, maybe have a drink. It was Saturday night. The bars were filled with people having a good time. He wanted to be one of those people with an ordinary life, with ordinary problems.

  He turned off the main drag and headed for the village. He was no stranger to the gay bars. He must now know every gay ghetto in Europe as well as North America, but it was in L.A. he felt at home.

  He had first visited this district when he was sixteen. A bouncer had tossed him out on his rear after he had managed to mill around in this one particular bar for an hour.
The guy's name was Marty, and he had told him not to be too anxious.

  "Come back in a few years, kid, they're going to love you."

  Angelo smiled as he parked his bike. He hadn't seen Marty in a while. The Encounter Bar was still there on the corner, one of the milder places where men weren't permitted to have sex in the open, and you could still have a drink without someone trying to run their hands all over you.

  Dad never liked the idea that he hung out in these bars, but Angelo told him that he'd probably outgrow them eventually. Aside from not being keen on the bars, his father had a very open-minded attitude about sexuality. He'd told him when he was fourteen that no one could choose who they loved. He'd said, "Son, experiment if you like, but always protect yourself, always treat your lover with respect and realize that like it or not, my son, one day you're going to fall in love, and it may not be with someone you should love."

  That statement had always puzzled him some, because as far as he knew, his father had never been truly in love with anyone. He'd had relationships, ones which lasted a month, others a year. Some with men, others with women, but he never once indicated that he loved any of them, although he certainly treated them well. The marriage between his parents had been a mistake.

  In spite of his parents' divorce, they had always been there for him. He felt lucky about that. Mother didn't know he came to the bars. She would have raised the roof, although she knew he had been intimate with men. Deep down, he knew she hoped he'd get married one day. Maybe he would. But tonight, this is what he wanted. He intended only to browse, not buy. He was too tired, unless of course, there was something exceptional being offered.