You're nobody 'til somebody kills you

Thirteen

I spent the first day of the wake in front of Jerry’s TV.

After we finished most of the pizza and all of the beer he asked me what I wanted to do. I told him I didn’t want to hold him up, that if he had business he needed to take care of, go ahead.

“I got nothin’ doin’, Mr. G.,” he said. “I’m pretty much free and clear for a coupla days, at least.”

“Well, you don’t have to entertain me, Jerry.”

“You just lost yer mother, so I feel kinda, ya know, obligated ta at least sit with ya.”

“Well, that’s nice but-”

“I think I got a bottle of bourbon around here, someplace,” he said. “We could watch some TV.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” I said. “Sort of our own private wake right here-at least, for a while.”

So we drank bourbon-Jack Daniel’s-and watched television. I was having a much better time than I would have had at the funeral parlor, trying to defend my life to my family.

Next thing I knew it was morning, and I was sprawled on the couch. There was a pillow under my head, and a blanket draped over me. I could smell coffee and bacon. I sat up, bumping into a coffee table that stood right in front of the sofa.

“You got time to jump inta the shower, Mr. G. I put fresh towels in there for ya. I’m makin’ omelets. Ya want toast with yours?”

God, he sounded perky-not a word I would have previously associated with Big Jerry. If I didn’t know better I’d think he was happy to have the company.

“Toast would be good,” I said. “I’ll be quick.”

I grabbed my toiletries from my bag and stumbled into the bathroom. It was small, stark, very white. It smelled as if it had recently been cleaned. In the shower I found a fresh bar of soap next to a bottle of shampoo. There was also a bottle of something that seemed to be for the treatment of thinning hair. Was Jerry concerned about a receding hairline?

Used the soap, my own shampoo, got dressed and shuffled to the kitchen with damp hair.

“Just in time,” Jerry said. He put a mug of coffee in front of me. No milk, no sugar, which meant he remembered how I took it. Food was always a main concern with Jerry, so he obviously had a good memory about it.

He put a plate on the table piled with a stack of white toast, and then set two plates of omelets down. I could see green peppers, onions and bacon in the eggs.

“You want hot sauce or somethin’?” he asked.

“No, this is great. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I don’t mind. I like cookin’. Ya probably wanna have a diner breakfast while you’re here, though, so we can do that tomorrow.”

As with the pizza I hadn’t been to a Brooklyn Greek diner in a long time. I hadn’t thought about it, but he was right. I would like a diner breakfast before I went back to Vegas. Who knew if I’d ever be back to Brooklyn after this? That depended on how I got along with my father, my brother and my sister. If things went as badly as I expected them to, I knew I’d never be back, no matter what.

I added salt and pepper to my omelet, which Jerry didn’t seem to mind. He did the same with his. I buttered some toast to go with it.

“Hey, I forgot,” he said, getting up quickly. He came back with a pitcher of orange juice he’d obviously prepared earlier.

“Well,” I said, as he poured two glasses, “now it’s perfect. Thanks, Jerry.”

“Sure, Mr. G.”

“I guess I’m kind of surprised you didn’t make pancakes.”

“Pancakes is my thing,” he said. “You’re my guest.”

“You, uh, entertain often?”

“Naw,” he said, “never.”

He was a pretty good host for somebody who never had company.

After breakfast Jerry cleaned his kitchen while I went into the living room to watch some TV. When he was done he came in and sat with me.

“You goin’ to the wake today, Mr. G.?”

“I don’t know, Jerry,” I said. “I haven’t decided.”

“Whataya wanna do today, then?”

I had been thinking about that while I was watching television.

“I’ll tell you what I wanna do,” I said. “I wanna walk down to the bay, take a look at the boats, walk past Lundy’s and some of the other old hangouts, and end up at Randazzo’s for some clams for lunch. How’s that sound?”

“Didja bring a coat from Vegas?” Jerry asked. “It’s gonna be cold today.”

“I did remember that it was winter in New York, Jerry,” I said.