the gooney bird, but they were working themselves up into a frenzy, the two of them, squawking and tittering and going on and on about this Indian wedding shit. Just what Lorraine needed, more stupid ideas. Shit. Standing there with more pins in him than a voodoo doll, Gibbons stared at himself in the mirrors and suddenly he began to understand why some men got the uncontrollable urge to run away and become someone else. Like Mr. Bernstein. Like Tozzi maybe.
ister Cecilia Immordino turned the corner at Forty-third and Ninth Avenue, holding both the veil and the skirt of her black habit against the strong breeze, squinting through her big glasses. She glanced up at the majestic clouds in a clear blue sky and allowed a small smile to grace her lips. The sun was bright and spring was in the air. It was the perfect kind of day for prayers to be answered. Sister Cil was hoping. Today, dear God. At long last please let it be today.
Sabatini Mistretta, her brother Salâs boss, trudged along the sidewalk, scowling at the stiff wind whipping down the avenue. He was short and round and somewhat gruff, and Sal, in moments of unkindness, would say he resembled a frog. Sister Cil saw his point, but such characterizations were uncalled for, no matter how truthful they were. It was obviously Godâs will that Mr. Mistretta was the boss, and for that reason alone he should be respected. Even if he did look like a frog.
As they walked up Ninth Avenue she took note of every poor soul they passedâbums in doorways, lustful young women selling their bodies, wild-eyed drug addicts ignorant of their own spiritual and bodily needs, living mindless lives like base creatures, craving only the temporary relief they could get from their drug. It was remarkable, she thought, how God in His infinite wisdom had provided such an array of human degradation so that the rest of humanity would be shown the way not to go. Unfortunately some people do not pay attention to these examples, and thatâs why others must dedicate their lives to saving those who stray, others such as herself.
Waiting for the traffic light to change at Forty-fourth Street, she was careful to step down off the curb and maintain an armâs length between herself and Mr. Mistretta so as not to accentuate the difference in their heights. She did not want to upset him in any way, not at this most crucial time when his approval was the final thing they needed to make her long-anticipated dream a reality. Finally she would not have to turn girls away for lack of space, girls who stood a good chance of ending up here on the street with the legions of lost Jezebels. No, Sal would make sure of that. He had made her a promise years ago, and he assured her that he would follow through on it as soon as it was economically feasible. And her brother Sal was a man of his word. Theyâd been brought up right, after all.
And now, after all these years of planning and praying, he would finally be able to earn the money to make the huge donation she needed to start construction on the new facility for the Mary Magdalen Center, the home for unwed mothers she ran in Jersey City. All they needed now was Mr. Mistrettaâs okay on Salâs new venture, thatâs all, and she was confident that Mr. Mistretta would not disappoint her girls. Sheâd said a novena to the Blessed Virgin Mary, who knew how to intervene in these matters.
The traffic light changed and they started to cross the street. Mistretta turned and looked over his shoulder. âYousee that tall guy with the curly hair back there, Cil? The one in the brown jacket?â
Sister Cil held on to her veil and turned around. âYes.â
âParole officer. He follows me around every day.â Mistretta spoke in a hoarse whisper. âEvery day since they transferred me to this halfway house here, this guyâs been on my tail. Why didnât they just leave me at Allenwood for my last month? No, they
ister Cecilia Immordino turned the corner at Forty-third and Ninth Avenue, holding both the veil and the skirt of her black habit against the strong breeze, squinting through her big glasses. She glanced up at the majestic clouds in a clear blue sky and allowed a small smile to grace her lips. The sun was bright and spring was in the air. It was the perfect kind of day for prayers to be answered. Sister Cil was hoping. Today, dear God. At long last please let it be today.
Sabatini Mistretta, her brother Salâs boss, trudged along the sidewalk, scowling at the stiff wind whipping down the avenue. He was short and round and somewhat gruff, and Sal, in moments of unkindness, would say he resembled a frog. Sister Cil saw his point, but such characterizations were uncalled for, no matter how truthful they were. It was obviously Godâs will that Mr. Mistretta was the boss, and for that reason alone he should be respected. Even if he did look like a frog.
As they walked up Ninth Avenue she took note of every poor soul they passedâbums in doorways, lustful young women selling their bodies, wild-eyed drug addicts ignorant of their own spiritual and bodily needs, living mindless lives like base creatures, craving only the temporary relief they could get from their drug. It was remarkable, she thought, how God in His infinite wisdom had provided such an array of human degradation so that the rest of humanity would be shown the way not to go. Unfortunately some people do not pay attention to these examples, and thatâs why others must dedicate their lives to saving those who stray, others such as herself.
Waiting for the traffic light to change at Forty-fourth Street, she was careful to step down off the curb and maintain an armâs length between herself and Mr. Mistretta so as not to accentuate the difference in their heights. She did not want to upset him in any way, not at this most crucial time when his approval was the final thing they needed to make her long-anticipated dream a reality. Finally she would not have to turn girls away for lack of space, girls who stood a good chance of ending up here on the street with the legions of lost Jezebels. No, Sal would make sure of that. He had made her a promise years ago, and he assured her that he would follow through on it as soon as it was economically feasible. And her brother Sal was a man of his word. Theyâd been brought up right, after all.
And now, after all these years of planning and praying, he would finally be able to earn the money to make the huge donation she needed to start construction on the new facility for the Mary Magdalen Center, the home for unwed mothers she ran in Jersey City. All they needed now was Mr. Mistrettaâs okay on Salâs new venture, thatâs all, and she was confident that Mr. Mistretta would not disappoint her girls. Sheâd said a novena to the Blessed Virgin Mary, who knew how to intervene in these matters.
The traffic light changed and they started to cross the street. Mistretta turned and looked over his shoulder. âYousee that tall guy with the curly hair back there, Cil? The one in the brown jacket?â
Sister Cil held on to her veil and turned around. âYes.â
âParole officer. He follows me around every day.â Mistretta spoke in a hoarse whisper. âEvery day since they transferred me to this halfway house here, this guyâs been on my tail. Why didnât they just leave me at Allenwood for my last month? No, they
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