Английский язык с Крестным Отцом - Илья Франк

afraid to even try. He had called Jules Segal about it, when it would be safe to try to

sing and Jules had said anytime he felt like it. So he'd tried and sounded so hoarse and

lousy he'd given up. And his throat would hurt like hell the next day, hurt in a different

way than before the warts had been taken off. Hurt worse, burning. He was afraid to

keep singing, afraid that he'd lose his voice forever, or ruin it.

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And if he couldn't sing, what the hell was the use of everything else? Everything else

was just bullshit. Singing was the only thing he really knew. Maybe he knew more about

singing and his kind of music than anybody else in the world. He was that good, he

realized now. All those years had made him a real pro. Nobody could tell him the right

and the wrong, he didn't have to ask anybody. He knew. What a waste, what a damn

waste.

It was Friday and he decided to spend the weekend with Virginia and the kids. He

called her up as he always did to tell her he was coming. Really to give her a chance to

say no. She never said no. Not in all the years they had been divorced. Because she

would never say no to a meeting of her daughters and their father. What a broad,

Johnny thought. He'd been lucky with Virginia. And though he knew he cared more

about her than any other woman he knew it was impossible for them to live together

sexually. Maybe when they were sixty-five, like when you retire, they'd retire together,

retire from everything.

But reality shattered these thoughts when he arrived there and found Virginia was

feeling a little grouchy herself and the two girls not that crazy to see him because they

had been promised a weekend visit with some girl friends on a California ranch where

they could ride horses.

He told Virginia to send the girls off to the ranch and kissed them good-bye with an

amused smile. He understood them so well. What kid wouldn't rather go riding horses

on a ranch than hang around with a grouchy father who picked his own spots as a

father. He said to Virginia, "I'll have a few drinks and then I'll shove off too."

"All right," she said. She was having one of her bad days, rare, but recognizable. It

wasn't too easy for her leading this kind of life.

She saw him taking an extra large drink. "What are you cheering yourself up for?"

Virginia asked. "Everything is going so beautifully for you. I never dreamed you had it in

you to be such a good businessman."

Johnny smiled at her. "It's not so hard," he said. At the same time he was thinking, so

that's what was wrong. He understood women and he understood now that Virginia was

down because she thought he was having everything his own way. Women really hated

seeing their men doing too well. It irritated them. It made them less sure of the hold they

exerted over them through affection, sexual custom or marriage ties. So more to cheer

her up than voice his own complaints, Johnny said, "What the hell difference does it

make if I can't sing."

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Virginia's voice was annoyed. "Oh, Johnny, you're not a kid anymore. You're over

thirty-five. Why do you keep worrying about that silly singing stuff? You make more

money as a producer anyhow."

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Johnny looked at her curiously and said, "I'm a singer. I love to sing. What's being old

got to do with that?"

Virginia was impatient. "I never liked your singing anyway. Now that you've shown you

can make movies, I'm glad you can't sing anymore."

They were both surprised when Johnny said with fury, "That's a fucking lousy thing to

say." He was shaken. How could Virginia feel like that, how could she dislike him so

much?

Virginia smiled at his being hurt and because it was so outrageous that he should be

angry at her she said, "How do you think I felt when all those girls came running after

you because of the way you sang? How would you feel if I went ass-naked down the

street to get men running after me? That's what your singing was and I used to wish

you'd lose your voice and could never sing again. But that was before we got divorced."

Johnny finished his drink. "You don't understand a thing. Not a damn thing." He went

into the kitchen and dialed Nino's number. He quickly arranged for them both to go

down to Palm Springs for the weekend and gave Nino the number of a girl to call, a real

fresh young beauty he'd been meaning to get around to. "She'll have a friend for you,"

Johnny said. "I'll be at your place in an hour."

Virginia gave him a cool good-bye when he left. He didn't give a damn, it was one of

the few times he was angry with her. The hell with it, he'd just tear loose for the

weekend and get all the poison out of his system.

Sure enough, everything was fine down in Palm Springs. Johnny used his own house

down there, it was always kept open and staffed this time of year. The two girls were

young enough to be great fun and not too rapacious for some kind of favor. Some

people came over to keep them company at the pool until suppertime. Nino went to his

room with his girl to get ready for supper and a quick bang while he was still warm from

the sun. Johnny wasn't in the mood, so he sent his girl, a short bandbox blonde named

Tina, up to shower by herself. He never could make love to another woman after he'd

had a fight with Virginia.

He went into the glass-walled patio living room that held a piano. When singing with

the band he had fooled around with the piano just for laughs, so he could pick out a

song in a fake moonlight-soft ballad style. He sat down now and hummed along a bit

with the piano, very softly, muttering a few words but not really singing. Before he knew

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it Tina was in the living room making him a drink and sitting beside him at the piano. He

played a few tunes and she hummed with him. He left her at the piano and went up to

take his shower. In the shower he sang short phrases, more like speaking. He got

dressed and went back down. Tina was still alone; Nino was really working his girl over

or getting drunk.

Johnny sat down at the piano again while Tina wandered off outside to watch the pool.

He started singing one of his old songs. There was no burning in his throat. The tones

were coming out muted but with proper body. He looked at the patio. Tina was still out

there, the glass door was closed, she wouldn't hear him. For some reason he didn't

want anybody to hear him. He started off fresh on an old ballad that was his favorite. He

sang full out as if he were singing in public, letting himself go, waiting for the familiar

burning rasp in his throat but there was none. He listened to his voice, it was different

somehow, but he liked it. It was darker, it was a man's voice, not a kid's, rich he thought,

dark rich. He finished the song easing up and sat there at the piano thinking about it.

Behind him Nino said, "Not bad, old buddy, not bad at all."

Johnny swiveled his body around. Nino was standing in the doorway, alone. His girl

wasn't with him. Johnny was relieved. He didn't mind Nino hearing him.

"Yeah," Johnny said. "Let's get rid of those two broads. Send them home."

Nino said, "You send them home. They're nice kids, I'm not gonna hurt their feelings.

Besides I just banged mine twice. How would it look if I sent her away without even

giving her dinner?"

The hell with it, Johnny thought. Let the girls listen even if he sounded lousy. He

called up a band leader he knew in Palm Springs and asked him to send over a

mandolin for Nino. The band leader protested, "Hell, nobody plays a mandolin in

California." Johnny yelled, "Just get one."

The house was loaded with recording equipment and Johnny had the two girls work

the turn-off and volumes. After they had dinner, Johnny went to work. He had Nino

playing the mandolin as accompaniment and sang all his old songs. He sang them all

the way out, not nursing his voice at all. His throat was fine, he felt that he could sing

forever. In the months he had not been able to sing he had often thought about singing,

planned out how he would phrase lyrics differently now than as a kid. He had sung the

songs in his head with more sophisticated variations of emphasis. Now he was doing it

for real. Sometimes it would go wrong in the actual singing, stuff that had sounded good

when he heard it just in his head didn't work out when he tried it really singing out loud.

OUT LOUD, he thought. He wasn't listening to himself now, he was concentrating on

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performing. He fumbled a little on timing but that was OK, just rusty. He had a

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metronome in his head that would never fail him. Just a little practice was all he needed.

Finally he stopped singing. Tina came over to him with eyes shining and gave him a

long kiss. "Now I know why Mother goes to all your movies," she said. It was the wrong

thing to say at any time except this. Johnny and Nino laughed.

They played the feedback and now Johnny could really listen to himself. His voice had

changed, changed a hell of a lot but was still unquestionably the voice of Johnny

Fontane. It had become much richer and darker as he had noticed before but there was

also the quality of a man singing rather than a boy. The voice had more true emotion,

more character. And the technical part of his singing was far superior to anything he had

ever done. It was nothing less than masterful. And if he was that good now, rusty as hell,

how good would he be when he got in shape again? Johnny grinned at Nino. "Is that as

good as I think it is?"

Nino looked at his happy face thoughtfully. "It's very damn good," he said. "But let's

see how you sing tomorrow."

Johnny was hurt that Nino should be so downbeat. "You son of a bitch, you know you

can't sing like that. Don't worry about tomorrow. I feel great." But he didn't sing any

more that night. He and Nino took the girls to a party and Tina spent the night in his bed

but he wasn't much good there. The girl was a little disappointed. But what the hell, you

couldn't do everything all in one day, Johnny thought.

He woke up in the morning with a sense of apprehension, with a vague terror that he

had dreamed his voice had come back. Then when he was sure it was not a dream he

got scared that his voice would be shot again. He went to the window and hummed a bit,

then he went down to the living room still in his pajamas. He picked out a tune on the

piano and after a while tried singing with it. He sang mutedly but there was no pain, no

hoarseness in his throat, so he turned it on. The chords were true and rich, he didn't

have to force it at all. Easy, easy, just pouring out. Johnny realized that the bad time

was over, he had it all now. And it didn't matter a damn if he fell on his face with movies,

it didn't matter if he couldn't get it up with Tina the night before, it didn't matter that

Virginia would hate him being able to sing again. For a moment he had just one regret.

If only his voice had come back to him while trying to sing for his daughters, how lovely

that would have been. That would have been so lovely.

The hotel nurse had come into the room wheeling a cart loaded with medication.

Johnny got up and stared down at Nino, who was sleeping or maybe dying. He knew

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Nino wasn't jealous of his getting his voice back. He understood that Nino was only

jealous because he was so

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happy about getting his voice back. That he cared so much about singing. For what was

very obvious now was that Nino Valenti didn't care enough about anything to make him

want to stay alive.

Chapter 27

Michael Corleone arrived late in the evening and, by his own order, was not met at the

airport. Only two men accompanied him: Tom Hagen and a new bodyguard, named

Albert Neri.

The most lavish suite of rooms in the hotel had been set aside for Michael and his

party. Already waiting in that suite were the people it would be necessary for Michael to

see.

Freddie greeted his brother with a warm embrace. Freddie was much stouter, more

benevolent-looking, cheerful, and far more dandified. He wore an exquisitely tailored

gray silk and accessories to match. His hair was razor cut and arranged as carefully as

a movie star's, his face glowed with perfect barbering and his hands were manicured.

He was an altogether different man than the one who had been shipped out of New

York four years before.

He leaned back and surveyed Michael fondly. "You look a hell of a lot better now that

you got your face fixed. Your wife finally talked you into it, huh? How is Kay? When she

gonna come out and visit us out here?"

Michael smiled at his brother. "You're looking pretty good too. Kay would have come

out this time, but she's carrying another kid and she has the baby to look after. Besides

this is business, Freddie, I have to fly back tomorrow night or the morning after."

"You have to eat something first," Freddie said. "We've got a great chef in the hotel,

you'll get the best food you ever ate. Go take your shower and change and everything

will be set up right here. I have all the people you want to see lined up, they'll be waiting

around for when you're ready, I just have to call them."

Michael said pleasantly, "Let's save Moe Greene to the end, OK? Ask Johnny

Fontane and Nino up to eat with us. And Lucy and her doctor friend. We can talk while

we eat." He turned to Hagen. "Anybody you want to add to that, Tom?"

Hagen shook his head. Freddie had greeted him much less affectionately than

Michael, but Hagen understood. Freddie was on his father's shit list and Freddie

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naturally blamed the Consigliori for not straightening things out. Hagen would gladly