Gold Coast

I don't know what a Mafia don's wife should look like, since you never see one in public or on the news, but I guessed that A

When I was in college, there were five classifications for a woman's looks, based on the maximum light you would want on in the bedroom. There were the 3-way-bulb women – 100-watt, 70-watt, and 30-watt. After that you had your night-light-only women, and finally all-lights-out.

A

Frank Bellarosa proposed a toast: "To our new neighbours and new friends." I drank to that, though I had my fingers crossed under the table. Sure I'm superstitious.

We chatted awhile, and Susan made a big deal over the pile of pastry, then complimented the Bellarosas on all the work they were doing on Alhambra. We tossed around a few names for the estate, and I suggested Casa Ca

It was my turn. I said, "John."

"Good," said Frank.

I've never been on a first-name basis with a Mafia don, and I was just thrilled.

I couldn't wait to get to The Creek with the news.

Mrs Bellarosa stood and served the coffee from the urn. We all helped ourselves to the pastry. The coffee and pastry were superb. No complaints there. The conversation turned to children, as it usually does with parents, whether they be kings and queens, or thieves and whores. Parenting is the great equalizer, or more optimistically, a common human bond. I loosened up a bit, partly because of Mrs Bellarosa's presence, but partly because I felt oddly at ease.

A

"Well," I said, "some people would still rather be poor but honest." "I don't know nobody like that. But anyway, my oldest guy, Frankie, he's got no head for the family business, so I sent him to college, then set him up in a little thing of his own in Jersey. Tommy is the one in Cornell. He wants to run a big hotel in Atlantic City or Vegas. I'll set him up with Frankie in Atlantic City. Tony, the one at La Salle, is another case. He wants in." Bellarosa smiled. The little punk wants my job. You know what? If he wants it bad enough, he'll have it."

I cleared my throat and observed, "It's not easy to bring up kids today with all the sex, violence, drugs, Nintendo."

"Yeah. But sex is okay. How about your kids?"

Susan replied, "Carolyn is at Yale, and Edward is graduating from St Paul's in June."

"They go

Susan replied, "Carolyn is pre-law. Edward is somewhat vague. I think because he knows he will inherit a good deal of money from his grandparents, he has lost some of his motivation."

I've never heard Susan say this to anyone, not even me, and I was a bit a

"No. My uncle paid. The uncle who took me into the family business. One less mouth to feed for my old man."

"I see."

A

I glanced at Bellarosa to see if he appreciated the irony of that last remark, but he seemed impassive. For about half a second I thought I had made a terrible mistake and that Mr Frank Bellarosa was just an overworked entrepreneur. Susan chimed in, "John doesn't keep long office hours, but he brings home a briefcase full of work every night. Though he does take Saturdays off, and of course he won't work on the Sabbath."

Bellarosa said to Susan, "And he took Easter Monday off. Wouldn't talk business with me." He looked at me. "I know a couple of Protestants. They don't work Sundays neither. Catholics will work on a Sunday. What if you had a real big case in court on Monday?"

"Then," I informed him, "I work on Sunday. The Lord wouldn't want me to make a fool of myself in front of a Catholic or Jewish judge." Ha, ha, ha. Haw, haw, haw. Even I smiled at my own wit. The sambuca was finally working its magic.

Bellarosa, in fact, picked up the bottle and poured some into my coffee, then everyone's coffee. "This is the way we drink it."

The coffee had steamed my glasses a few times, and I wiped them with my handkerchief without taking them off, which caused Susan to look at me with puzzlement. A

A

Bellarosa snorted. "These Brooklyn Italian women – I tell you, you can move them to Villa Borghese, and they still bitch about being out of Brooklyn." "Oh, Frank, you don't have to sit home all day. You get to go back to the old neighbourhood."

"Listen to her. Sit home. She's got a car and driver and goes to Brooklyn to see her mother and her crazy relatives whenever she wants." "It's not the same, Frank. It's lonely here." A little light bulb popped on in her head. I saw it, but before I could change the subject, she said, "How about Easter morning?" She looked at me. "I was walking out back on Easter morning, out near the pool we got out there, and this man -" she shuddered – "this maniac is there, on his hands and knees like an animal, growling at me." "Really?" I asked, adjusting my glasses.

"My goodness!" Susan exclaimed.

A

Frank said, "I told John about that. He said he never heard of anything like that before. Right, John?"