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It’d been a while, but in my younger years, when I handled more business personally, before I stepped into the Boss role, an occasional deal was struck and celebrated with a meal at Pop’s. Business wasn’t conducted in the restaurant - Romano wouldn’t allow it - but we had some good times here before my world changed and things like grabbing a bite with the guys after a successful night earning was too dangerous. I thought I had gotten lucky and Pop had the day off, but I should have known better.
I kept my head down when he approached our table.
“How’d you like your pizza?” He asked Suzanne as he started to clear the table.
“It’s the best I’ve ever had.” She smiled at him. “I’ve lived in the city for five years. I can’t believe I’ve missed out on this until now.”
“Now you’ve had it, you’ll want to come back. I got the best sauce in New York. Get your boyfriend here to quit being lazy and bring you back for dinner one night. What’s your favorite? Scallopini? Eggplant parm? I bet you’re a spaghetti girl. I got the best meatballs in New York City. Forget New York City.” He was still talking as he started to walk away. “I got the best meatballs in all of New York.
“Hey,piasan!” he barked so loudly, I looked up to see who he was yelling at.
Turned out, thepiasanwas me.
“You bring your girl back next weekend for dinner. Pizza’s good for lunch but she needs some...say, don’t I know you?”
Thankfully, the restaurant was still noisy, and no one noticed Pop’s attention was now all on me. I sat back in the booth, remaining casual, trying not to draw more attention to myself than Pop already had.
“How ya doing, Pop.” It was a customary greeting rather than an actual question.
“No freakin’ kiddin’.”
He slapped me on the back with a hand that was older than when we last met but still had strength in it. “I haven’t seen you around here since before he left. And I mean, when he left, not for good like he just did, may the dead rest in peace, but in the old days, you know. How the hell you doing, kid?”
Pop had a personality you couldn’t help but love. Like most of this community, he worked hard, loved sharing his food with the world, and took pride in his Italian roots. It was hard not to love the guy whose restaurant had been a community staple for almost forty years.
Common sense said I should have pretended he had mistaken my identity, but a quick glance around the room showed that no one gave a fuck but me.
“It’s good to see you, Pop. How’s business?”
He leaned over our table, his arms full of dishes, but at least he wasn’t yelling at me across the restaurant.
“Business is good. The world goes bat-shit crazy, but one thing never changes - people always want pizza. Things have gone to hell around the neighborhood, though. Too many changes lately. People trying to figure out who’s in charge now, you know.” His eyes narrowed at me. “You ain’t part of that shit, are you?”
I shook my head. “I’m just here for the pizza.” I nodded at Suzanne. “Had to get her the best in the city, didn’t I?”
Changing the subject back to food worked. Pop was always ready to talk about hia food.
“You’re damn right. Good seeing you, kid.” He walked away, rambling on about his menu. “Damn right. We got parm, we got spaghetti, rigatoni, linguini, the best lasagna on any coast...”
His voice trailed off as he wound his way back to the kitchen.
“You didn’t mention you knew him.”
I shrugged it off. “We used to come here a lot when I was younger, and my family came to the city more often. We’d spend the day here on Arthur Avenue. Ma used to say it was the closest thing she’d found to being back in Italy.” I felt a little more human, sharing a bit of my real family with her and making a mental note that maybe a trip to Arthur Avenue was exactly what Mama needed right now.
Suzanne’s eyes opened wide. “So, you’re first generation?”
I nodded slowly. I had to be cautious. I had to share something of my past, or my continued silence could raise her suspicions. There had to be some give and take if I wanted to continue to take from her.
“My parents came over not long after they were married. My older brother Dante was born not long after and I came along a few years after him. We’d been here for about ten years before Lilly was born.”
Interest sparked in her eyes, and I realized I should have lied. She hung onto every word I said. But I guess in the long run, the truth was easier to keep track of. I wasn’t much of a liar, outside being a criminal, that is.
“Why did they move here? What made them leave Italy?”
This was where my willingness to share ended. My father left Italy to build a better life for his family... and to protect his wife.
In American terms, Alessandro Calegari was from the wrong side of the tracks. My mother’s family wasn’t wealthy by any means, but there was bad blood between the Calegaris and the Beneventis. My father used to tell us the story - it was one of the few things from his past that he’d openly share - the story of a young, dirty, stupid newspaper boy who fell in love with the prettiest girl in the village. “Eyes like jewels,” he’d say. “Hair the color of night and lips so red. She was the sweetest girl in the world. When her father wasn’t looking, she’d bring me treats. Something she’d baked, a slice ofpanforteorbiscotti.She had the spirit of an angel.” He usually finished by patting Dante and me on the knees as he sat between us. “My wish for my sons is that no matter where your paths take you, you find a woman as sweet as my Maria to walk with you.”
