which were now speckled white. “I left the rest for you, so grab a paintbrush and make yourself useful.”
“It’ll have to wait,” replied Benny, too distracted to mock my still unrelenting fear of heights. “I can’t get paint on these duds. Got a girl coming over later.”
“Of course you do,” I said. “Only one this time?”
“No, actually, I threw you a bone and told her to bring her sister. You can thank me later, after you’ve sized her up. We can all go tear it up over at the Green Mill.”
“And get shot up with Tommy guns?” I asked, facetiously. The Green Mill Jazz Club, spitting distance from where we were, was a known gangster hangout and speakeasy during the Prohibition Era. Al Capone’s favorite booth was now practically a holy shrine there.
“The way I see it, all those ‘wise guys’ are our potential customers. We ought to mingle.”
“Benny.” I looked at him with exasperation.
“What? I’m
kidding.
”
“I’m not. We’re swamped with work here. Now’s not the time to be chasing skirts and pretending we’re hepcats.”
“She’s not just some skirt. And I’m not chasing her. We’re in love.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I was slack-jawed. I’d watched Benny make time with a decade’s worth of pretty girls. Like Chicago’s leading Lothario, he’d spent his adolescence stealing (and squandering) the hearts of fair maidens with much the same enthusiasm that he’d exhibited as a child collecting fireflies in a jar. As with the bugs, his fascination for these young women dissipated the moment he had actually captured them. Going steady was never his aim—it was only the chase he found exhilarating. Needless to say, “love” had never even entered his vocabulary, so now that he’d uttered it for the first time, the word resonated in my ears like a ladle clanging the bottom of an empty spaghetti pot. Even though I was standing on the floor, I felt struck by a fleeting sense of vertigo, and reached for the push broom propped against a table to steady myself.
Benny leaned his back against the tile counter we’d installed last week and hopped himself to a seated position atop it.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he began.
“Am I that predictable?” I rested my chin on the tip of the broom handle.
“This is different,” he said, ignoring my question. “I am done. Playing the field, I mean.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Not any more so than usual,” he joked. I walked over to him and placed the back of my hand across his forehead as if checking his temperature.
“Are you ill?” I wondered. He shook his head, grinning. Was he actually blushing? I clutched his chin in my hand and turned his face back and forth as if examining a melon.
“No,” I said decisively. “This cannot be my friend Benito Caputo. He’s been switched, under cover of night, with some sappy, starry-eyed Romeo.”
“It’s true, Nick. I love this woman.”
“A
woman?!
Oh, thank God. I was worried that you’d fallen for some pack mule. But that’s what you may liken your ‘fair Juliet’ to tomorrow when the next pretty girl turns your head.”
“Not this time, Nick. Not anymore. She’s smart, she’s feisty, she’s a real looker, and she’s the one—I’m certain of it.”
“
The one?
” I was incredulous. He smiled and nodded. “Well, for crying out loud, you old dope! I’m happy for you!” Prodding him in the ribs, I added, “In that case, I’m glad she’s on her way over here. I’ve got to meet the nice Sicilian girl who finally nabbed the mythical Golden Fleece: your heart.”
“Yeah. About that ….”
“Wait—don’t tell me she’s a
Genovese
. I might have to disown you,” I teased.
“Funny thing, actually. She’s not even Italian,” Benny clarified, setting off more of my mental clanging.
“Now you’re pulling my leg! Let me guess: Polish? German?”
“Neither. She’s … not exactly from our
“It’ll have to wait,” replied Benny, too distracted to mock my still unrelenting fear of heights. “I can’t get paint on these duds. Got a girl coming over later.”
“Of course you do,” I said. “Only one this time?”
“No, actually, I threw you a bone and told her to bring her sister. You can thank me later, after you’ve sized her up. We can all go tear it up over at the Green Mill.”
“And get shot up with Tommy guns?” I asked, facetiously. The Green Mill Jazz Club, spitting distance from where we were, was a known gangster hangout and speakeasy during the Prohibition Era. Al Capone’s favorite booth was now practically a holy shrine there.
“The way I see it, all those ‘wise guys’ are our potential customers. We ought to mingle.”
“Benny.” I looked at him with exasperation.
“What? I’m
kidding.
”
“I’m not. We’re swamped with work here. Now’s not the time to be chasing skirts and pretending we’re hepcats.”
“She’s not just some skirt. And I’m not chasing her. We’re in love.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I was slack-jawed. I’d watched Benny make time with a decade’s worth of pretty girls. Like Chicago’s leading Lothario, he’d spent his adolescence stealing (and squandering) the hearts of fair maidens with much the same enthusiasm that he’d exhibited as a child collecting fireflies in a jar. As with the bugs, his fascination for these young women dissipated the moment he had actually captured them. Going steady was never his aim—it was only the chase he found exhilarating. Needless to say, “love” had never even entered his vocabulary, so now that he’d uttered it for the first time, the word resonated in my ears like a ladle clanging the bottom of an empty spaghetti pot. Even though I was standing on the floor, I felt struck by a fleeting sense of vertigo, and reached for the push broom propped against a table to steady myself.
Benny leaned his back against the tile counter we’d installed last week and hopped himself to a seated position atop it.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he began.
“Am I that predictable?” I rested my chin on the tip of the broom handle.
“This is different,” he said, ignoring my question. “I am done. Playing the field, I mean.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Not any more so than usual,” he joked. I walked over to him and placed the back of my hand across his forehead as if checking his temperature.
“Are you ill?” I wondered. He shook his head, grinning. Was he actually blushing? I clutched his chin in my hand and turned his face back and forth as if examining a melon.
“No,” I said decisively. “This cannot be my friend Benito Caputo. He’s been switched, under cover of night, with some sappy, starry-eyed Romeo.”
“It’s true, Nick. I love this woman.”
“A
woman?!
Oh, thank God. I was worried that you’d fallen for some pack mule. But that’s what you may liken your ‘fair Juliet’ to tomorrow when the next pretty girl turns your head.”
“Not this time, Nick. Not anymore. She’s smart, she’s feisty, she’s a real looker, and she’s the one—I’m certain of it.”
“
The one?
” I was incredulous. He smiled and nodded. “Well, for crying out loud, you old dope! I’m happy for you!” Prodding him in the ribs, I added, “In that case, I’m glad she’s on her way over here. I’ve got to meet the nice Sicilian girl who finally nabbed the mythical Golden Fleece: your heart.”
“Yeah. About that ….”
“Wait—don’t tell me she’s a
Genovese
. I might have to disown you,” I teased.
“Funny thing, actually. She’s not even Italian,” Benny clarified, setting off more of my mental clanging.
“Now you’re pulling my leg! Let me guess: Polish? German?”
“Neither. She’s … not exactly from our
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