Then Again, Maybe I Won't Read online

  I sat up in bed. This is it! He’s going to tell me. At last I’ll know the secret. No matter what it is, I won’t break down in front of him. I’ll tell him it’s all right. That I know how these things can happen.

  “I’ve made a deal, Tony,” my father said. “That is, I think I’ve made a deal.”

  So it’s a deal, I thought. He’s sold out to protect us. That’s why my mother’s excited.

  “Are you listening, Tony?” my father asked.

  “Sure Pop.”

  “Well, I’ll know more tomorrow when the lawyers talk.”

  “What lawyers?”

  “Sam Ranken, my lawyer, has to meet with the lawyer for J. W. Fullerbach Electronics,” my father said.

  I asked my mother, “What’s he talking about?”

  “Tony … Tony …”

  Here she goes again, I thought.

  “Your father’s a genius! An absolute genius! Did you know that, Tony?” She gave my father a juicy kiss and kept talking. “I always knew it … deep down inside I always knew!”

  My father! A genius? What’s she talking about now? My father’s regular. “I don’t get it,” I said.

  “Well, Tony …” my father began, loosening his tie. “One of my ideas about electrical cartridges … one of the things I’ve been working on downstairs …”

  I interrupted. “You know I don’t understand that stuff, Pop.”

  “So listen! Maybe this time you’ll understand.”

  “Okay … I’m listening,” I said.

  My father told me how he took his idea to Mr. J. W. Fullerbach. And how he had to see two assistant secretaries, three regular secretaries and a vice-president before he got to see J. W. Fullerbach himself. But it was worth it because Mr. Fullerbach likes the electrical cartridges—and my father—and my father’s ideas—and he wants all three.

  “You’re going to work for him?” I asked.

  “We’ll see,” my father said.

  “You’re quitting your job with Mr. Dalto?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Oh.”

  “This means money, Tony,” my father said. “It means Ralph and Angie won’t have to worry. Can you understand that?”

  “Sure Pop. Sure I understand.” I put my head on the pillow. My mother turned out the light and kissed me on my forehead.

  So my father’s not a secret agent.

  He’s not mixed up with the mob.

  And he doesn’t have cancer.

  But what was he talking about? One of his inventions? He really invented something that somebody wants? Is he a genius? And if he is how come it took so long to find out?

  My father took the bus to New York every morning for the next week. His regular boss, Mr. Dalto, called in the afternoon to find out how Pop was feeling. That’s how I knew my father had reported in sick. I didn’t give him away though. I said, “He’s getting better, Mr. Dalto. Thank you for calling.”

  At the end of the week, when Pop came home from New York, he picked me up and swung me around. Now that’s something he never does anymore. I’m much too big.

  So I yelled, “Hey, put me down!”

  Then my father picked up my mother and swung her around, then my grandmother and Angie but not Ralph. Ralph is bigger than my father. While he was swinging us all around like that he laughed and yelled, “We’re going to be rich … rich!”

  My mother hollered, “Vic! Calm down. You’re no kid. Think of your heart!”

  So Pop made us all sit down on the couch while he stood up in front of us and told us about his deal.

  J. W. Fullerbach Electronics is going to manufacture my father’s electrical cartridges. And my father is going to manage the plant that’s going to do the manufacturing.

  “It’s one of the Fullerbach plants in Queens,” my father said. “But now, thanks to Sam Ranken, it’s going to be called the Fullerbach-Miglione Engineering Corporation.”

  My mother tried that out for size. “Fullerbach—Miglione … Fullerbach—Miglione …”

  And I thought, Fullerbach—Miglione?

  “I get stock in Fullerbach Electronics, with options, of course …” my father said, doing a little dance. “I tell you … we are going to be rich!”

  I don’t know anybody rich. Everybody I know is just like me. I wonder what rich is like. It probably means that Ralph and Angie can have a baby every year.

  “Angie, let me kiss you!” my father said. “If it wasn’t for that baby you and Ralph are expecting, I’d never have had the guts to try out my electrical cartridges on anybody.”

  “Say, Pop,” I said. “How’re you going to get from Jersey City to Queens every day?” That was the part of it I understood.

  “I’m not going to, Tony,” my father said.

  “You’re not?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well then, what?” I asked.

  “I’m going to get from Rosemont to Queens.”

  “What’s Rosemont?” I asked.

  “It’s a town in Long Island.”

  “You’re going to live there?”

  “We’re going to live there!” my father said.

  “We are?” I asked.

  “That’s right!”

  “All of us?”

  “All of us!”

  Goodbye Jersey City, I thought.

  Goodbye basketball at the Y.

  Goodbye Little Joe and Big Joe.

  Goodbye Frankie and Billy.

  Goodbye Jersey Journal paper route.

  “What’s the matter, Tony?” my mother asked.

  “The Kid’s excited,” Ralph said. “Can’t you see … the Kid’s just so excited!”

  “And why not?” my mother asked. “How many kids have a genius for a father!”

  I don’t cry anymore. I’m too old for that baby stuff, which is why I ran for the bathroom and locked myself in. I cried really quiet. Not like Angie who does it so loud everybody knows.

  Then Again,

  Maybe I Won’t

  We all finished the school year in Jersey City but it wasn’t the same for me. Because when the guys talked about Jefferson Junior I knew I wouldn’t be there. I didn’t tell them we might be moving or about my father’s new job. I pretended everything was just fine. Then Pop announced that we had a new house. In Rosemont, just like he promised.

  On Sunday afternoon we went for a ride to Long Island. On the way my father said, “You know, Tony, Mr. Fullerbach made all the arrangements for our new house.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “He says Rosemont’s a nice place to live.”

  “I know. You already told me.”

  “And what a coincidence that Father Pissaro’s cousin should be a priest there,” my mother said.

  We just found out about Father Pissaro’s cousin this morning. After church, Pop told him we were moving to Rosemont and he told us about his cousin. So when Pop said we were going there this afternoon, Father Pissaro said he’d call his cousin and we could stop by and say hello.

  “I’m telling you, Tony, this family’s getting lucky,” Pop said. “I can feel it!”

  It doesn’t make me feel lucky to know that Father Pissaro’s cousin is a priest in Rosemont. It’s not that I don’t like him. It’s just that I don’t care one way or the other about his family. I’d feel luckier if my father told me Willis Reed or Rick Barry lives there.

  Pop looked over at me. “Well, what do you say, Tony? Are we getting lucky?”

  A passing car tooted its horn at us then. “Vic!” my mother shouted. “Keep your eyes on the road.”

  “Who’s driving?” my father asked. “You or me?”

  “You … you …” Mom told him. “All I’m saying is just be careful.”

  “I’m always careful! Right, Tony?”

  “Right, Pop.”

  We have the same conversation every time we go someplace in the truck. My father looks at whoever he’s talking to, my mother yells, “Be careful!” and my father tells her he’s
always careful. Usually this happens once going and at least once coming home.

  In an hour and a half we got to Rosemont. Pop drove us all around. Rosemont is really something! I think I’d be excited about moving there if only I could take my friends with me.

  My father and mother kept smiling at each other. “Our dream come true, Carmella,” Pop said.

  “Oh Vic … I love it!” my mother told him, squeezing his arm.

  Our new house is a big white one with a round driveway right up to the front door. All I could think of was, who’s going to cut all that grass? So I said, “How much land do we have, Pop?”

  And my father said, “Just about an acre.”

  “That’s a lot of grass.”

  “And look how green it is,” my mother said.

  “I guess the gardener takes good care of it,” Pop told her. “And Mr. Fullerbach arranged for the same man to work for us.”

  Whew—that’s a relief. For a minute I thought I’d get stuck cutting it. And if I had to cut all that grass I’d never have time for basketball. That reminds me—now the guys will find out the truth. That I’m moving away. And I feel kind of bad because our team will break up. How can you play with only four guys on a side?

  We couldn’t go inside our new house because people are still living there. My father said we should be able to move by July 20th. That means I’ll have my thirteenth birthday in Rosemont. I wonder what I’ll get?

  We drove up and down our street a few more times and then went to visit Father Pissaro’s cousin. His church is called Saint Joseph’s and it’s smaller than our church in Jersey City, but a lot more modern. It’s made out of brown bricks and the front doors are all glass. The cross doesn’t sit on top of the church. It’s built right into the front and goes straight up past the roof. There are a lot of tall trees around it and a parking area right behind. My father pulled the truck in there and we got out.

  My mother said, “Wait just a minute, Vic. I want to fix my hair.”

  When she was done we walked around to the front of the church and went inside. It was very quiet. Services were over. The priest was expecting us. He came out to greet us right away. He and my father shook hands.

  “I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Miglione. My cousin called to say you’d be here this afternoon. Welcome to Rosemont.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Pop said. “I’d like you to meet my wife and my youngest son, Tony.”

  “Mrs. Miglione … I know you’re going to enjoy living in Rosemont.”

  “Thank you, Father,” my mother said.

  Then he looked at me. “Well, Tony … how old are you … about twelve?”

  “Almost thirteen,” I said.

  “In junior high?”

  “Yes, I’m starting in September.”

  “He would be going into eighth grade, Father,” Mom said, “but he had pneumonia when he was five and the doctor told us not to rush him into school. So he started a year late.”

  My mother’s always explaining why I’m a little older than the other kids in my class. If you ask me she’s worried that people will think I stayed back. I wish she’d stop explaining. I don’t think anybody cares.

  “We have an active Junior Youth Group here, Tony,” Father Pissaro said. “I think you’ll like our activities. You can join when school starts.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I felt funny about calling him Father Pissaro. He doesn’t look like his cousin. He’s younger and rounder and he has more hair. To keep things straight in my mind I decided to name him Father Pissaro the Second.

  On the way back to Jersey City my father told us that J. W. Fullerbach lives on Long Island too, but much farther out. His chauffeur drives him to work every day.

  “Is that how it’s going to be for us?” I asked.

  “Don’t be silly, Tony. We’re going to be the same as always. Only we’ll have a nice house and a new car,” my father said.

  “We’re buying a car?” I asked.

  “Mr. Fullerbach will lease one for us. He does that for all his executives.” My father said executives really slow so I wouldn’t miss it.

  “What kind?” I asked.

  “What kind of what?”

  “Car. What kind of car will we get?”

  “Whatever Mr. Fullerbach decides,” my father said.

  I found out the next week. It’s a dark green hardtop with stereo speakers. The inside smells like new shoes.

  Big Joe, Little Joe, Billy and Frankie came over to see it right away. I let them sit in it and they were really impressed. Nobody we know has a hardtop with stereo speakers.

  Frankie asked me could he take over my paper route since I was leaving town. I told him sure. I’d fix it with my boss.

  “My father says your father hit it big at the races,” Big Joe said. “That’s how come you got the car and all.”

  “That’s not how come,” I said. “He invented something.” How could Big Joe’s father spread a story like that!

  “Yeah? What’d he invent?” Little Joe asked.

  “Some electrical cartridges,” I told him.

  “What’s that?” Billy asked.

  “It has to do with using lamps in the middle of a room. This way you don’t have to plug anything in and you don’t need a cord. You just attach an electrical cartridge.”

  “You mean it’s a kind of battery?”

  “No, not exactly.” I hated to admit I didn’t really understand it myself.

  “Never mind any electrical cartridges,” Billy said. “My father says your father’s hooked up with the mob. They bought him the car.”

  “That’s a lie!” I yelled. I couldn’t believe these guys. I always thought we were great friends. So why were they carrying on like idiots! “The car is part of the deal. So’s the new house,” I explained. “My father’s got a good lawyer. He arranged it. A good lawyer’s pretty important when you’re making a deal,” I said, like I knew all about it.

  “If your father’s so smart how come he never invented anything before?” Big Joe asked.

  “He did,” I told him. “But he didn’t try to sell any of his inventions.”

  “So how come he did now?” Little Joe asked.

  “Because Angie’s going to have a kid and we need some money.” I got out of the car and they followed me. I pretended not to care about what they were saying. I told myself the guys just feel bad because I’m moving away. Only Frankie was the same. He told me we’d still be great friends and he’d visit me and I’d visit him and all that.

  That night while I was getting ready for bed, Ralph came into my room and said, “Guess what, Kid?”

  “What?”

  “Me and Angie are moving to Long Island too.”

  “To Rosemont … with us?”

  Ralph laughed a little. “We’d love to live in Rosemont, Kid, but who can afford it? We got a little apartment in Queens. It’s a nice neighborhood with plenty of young people.”

  “Isn’t that pretty far from Jefferson Junior?” I asked.

  “I won’t be teaching at Jefferson Junior next year.”

  “You quit?”

  “I’ve applied for a teaching job in Queens. No point hanging around Jersey City if the whole family’s going to Long Island. Besides, Pop wants to sell this house and it’s time for me and Angie to be on our own.”

  “Oh.” I finished buttoning my pajamas and made a ball out of my dirty clothes.

  “Hey Kid … aren’t you glad? Now we’ll still be able to see each other all the time.”

  “Sure I’m glad,” I said. I didn’t tell Ralph I thought he and Angie would stay in Jersey City and I’d come visit them every weekend and maybe play a little basketball at the Y.

  We moved on July 20th, just like Pop said. The funny thing about moving was, we didn’t even need a moving van. And that was what I was looking forward to most. One of those big orange trucks parked outside our house with a dozen men carrying out all our stuff. The reason we didn’t need a moving van was
we weren’t taking anything old with us, except Grandma’s pots and pans and my Jefferson Junior High wall pennant. My mother didn’t want me to take it.

  “It’s old,” she said. “What do you need it for?”

  “I like it,” I told her. “I want to hang it above my bed.”

  “You’ll get a new one … from Rosemont Junior High.”

  “I want this one anyway. It used to be …” I almost said, “Vinnie’s.” But I caught myself in time and said, “Ralph’s.” We never talk about Vinnie. Every time somebody mentions his name Mom starts to cry.

  “Oh, all right. If it means so much to you, take it,” she said.

  Frankie came over to say goodbye again. He told me he got my paper route and I warned him about Mrs. Gorsky. “You’ve got to put her paper under the doormat or she’ll call the boss and report you.”

  “Okay,” Frankie said. “I’ll remember.” Then he reached into his pocket and came up with a coin. “This is for you, Tony,” he said, handing it to me.

  “Thanks,” I said, taking it.

  “It’s from England. It’s worth about a dollar.”

  “Thanks a lot, Frankie. It’s really interesting.” I wished I had something for him too. I was still holding my Jefferson Junior wall pennant. I unfolded it. “I was hoping you’d come over this morning because I wanted to give you this.” I handed it to Frankie.

  “Hey … thanks a lot, Tony. That’s really nice.”

  “It used to be Vinnie’s.”

  “No kidding! That’s really something. I didn’t know Vinnie went to Jefferson Junior.”

  “Yeah … he did.”

  “I’ll hang it over my bed.”

  “That’s where I had it.”

  “Yeah … I know.”

  My mother called me then. “Tony … hurry up … we’re ready to go.”

  “Well … see you, Frankie.”

  “Yeah … see you, Tony.”

  A few trips in the green hardtop—a few more in the old truck—and Goodbye Jersey City … Hello Rosemont!

  Everything in our Rosemont house is new except the carpeting. The old owners left it in as part of the deal. It’s yellow and it’s so thick you can lose your shoes in it. My father says my mother bought out Newark, Jersey City and half of New York fixing up the house. But he doesn’t mind. He wants her to enjoy herself now that he can afford it.