“No, I want to blow out the candles,” Hook said.
“What the hell right do you have?” the Sicilian asked. “I was the one who found the cake.”
“True, but I lit the birthday candles.” Hook proudly brandished his Zippo.
The Sicilian looked at him and then smiled. “But there’s one thing you haven’t considered.”
“And what’s that?”
“The fact that it’s going to be my birthday soon.” He blew hard on the cake, extinguishing all the candles. Admittedly, this wasn’t his actual birthday, and that was certainly not the appropriate number of candles. The Sicilian looked a far sight older than eighteen, but still a happy smile wreathed his face.
Hook flipped open his Zippo and almost simultaneously gave the flint wheel a sharp spin with his thumb. Then he ran the big flame over the top of each birthday candle, leaving a smaller flame flickering on the various wicks.
“What the fuck are you doing now?” the Sicilian asked.
“Now it’s my turn to blow them out.”
“Hey, no fair. You can only blow a cake’s birthday candles out once.”
“Says who?” Hook asked.
“Says me!” The Sicilian stuck his stubby hand into the icing, ruining the perfectly round shape of the eight marking Roberta’s new age, to lick the frosting off.
“But I’ve never blown out a cake full of birthday candles in my life.”
“Well, shit, why don’t you just blow out the candles on your own side?”
“No, now you’ve ruined it, and I don’t give a damn about it anymore,” Hook said.
“Here, why don’t you just take back your damned cake!” With those words, the Sicilian got rid of the clumps of frosting that still clung to his hand, flipping them accurately onto Hook’s jacket.
In response, Hook grabbed a handful of cake and tried to fire back. Instead, it hit the housekeeper, who had just entered the kitchen.
Hook and the Sicilian called a truce to their cold war and burst out laughing.
* * *
Petty thief that he was, Pollo immediately went looking for the mother’s bedroom. He found it. It had wisely been locked. Double-locked, in fact, but unfortunately, they’d left the key in the lock. Naively.
Pollo opened the door. The girls’ purses had all been left there on the bed in perfect order. He started opening them, one after the other, taking his time, really. The wallets were nearly all full. It really was one fine party. All of these people were high class, no two ways about that, as far as Pollo was concerned.
He was just about to leave when he noticed a handbag dangling from the armrest of a chair off to one side, hidden by a jacket draped over it. He picked up the bag. It was a handsome article, elegant and heavy with a woven leather strap and two fine lengths of deerskin lacing to fasten it. It must be richly stocked if its proprietor had taken such care to hide it.
Pollo started unknotting one of the two deerskin laces, cursing his habit of chewing his nails down to the bloody nub as he did so. At last, he managed to get the knot undone. And just as he did, the door swung open. Pollo hid the purse behind his back. A dark-haired young woman with a dazzling smile walked in, unruffled. When she saw him, she came to a halt.
“Shut that door.”
The young woman did as she was told. Pollo swung the handbag around from behind his back and started rummaging through it. She put on a shocked expression.
“So, are you going to tell me what you want in here?” he asked.
“My purse.”
“Well, what are you waiting for? Go ahead and get it, why don’t you?” Pollo pointed to the bed covered with purses he’d already emptied.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“A young thug has it in his hand.”
“Ah.” Pollo smiled. He took a closer look at the girl. She was very attractive, with black hair and side-swept bangs that mirrored the twist of her mouth in a vaguely irritated grimace.
Pollo found her wallet and pulled it out of the purse. “Here…” He tossed her the purse. “You only had to ask…”
Pallina caught the purse neatly and started rummaging through it. “You know that you’re not supposed to poke through a young lady’s purse, right? Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?”
“I’ve never actually spoken to my mother. Hey, you know what, you should have a chat with yours,” he said.
“Why’s that?”
“Well, there’s no way she should be letting you go out in public with nothing more than twenty bucks in your purse.”
“That’s my weekly allowance.”
Pollo pocketed the cash. “It was.”
“God you’re stupid!” She found what she’d been looking for and set down her purse. “Then, once you’re done, put my wallet back inside. Thanks.” She turned to leave.
“Hey, hold on a second.” Pollo caught up with her. “What did you just take out of your purse?”
“I’m sorry, I would happily have offered you one but…”
She showed Pollo the cigarette. “It was the last one…”
Pollo started laughing. “Oh, don’t worry…worst case, we can share it.”
“Ah, no.” And Pallina gave him a sarcastic smile before turning to leave.
Pollo stood there, unsure what to do now. In any case, it never occurred to him to put back the twenty bucks.
* * *
The DJ, a music-loving guy, whose hair was slightly longer than the others’ as a way of signaling his artistic temperament, flailed and shook in time to the beat. His hands moved the records backward and forward on twin turntables while a large pair of headphones over his ears let him hear first to avoid an awkward mix.
Schello walked over to him. “Hey, boss, would you put this tape on for me?”
The DJ, reading his lips more than hearing his words, took the cassette and slid it into the player next to him. He pushed a few buttons, sending the music into his headphones. Schello stood there watching him with a broad smile on his face. The DJ’s expression suddenly changed. The contents of the tape had just entered his headphones. He held out for just a handful of seconds.
“Are you insane?” he asked, taking the headphones off and, immediately afterward, removing the cassette from the tape deck. “That’s a tape by Anthrax. Most of the people in here would stampede out of the place, and the rest would have their hair standing on end. This stuff causes heart attacks. Here, take it,” he said, handing back the cassette. “Put it on at your house sometime, when you’re looking to cause yourself some harm.”
“You want to know the truth? I fall asleep to it.”
* * *
Step was wandering through the party, looking around him, distractedly listening to the stupid chatter of eighteen-year-old girls about expensive dresses they’d spotted in shop windows, scooters their parents had refused to buy for them, impossible boyfriends, definite betrayals, and frustrated aspirations.
Not far away, against a background of magnificent paintings and photographs of a healthy, wealthy society, someone was stumbling along as if wrecked. It was Bunny. Their eyes met. Bunny returned his smile and then stole an ashtray with a sudden move, just as a cigarette, with a long column of ash at the end, was coming in for a landing. The ash, which had teetered successfully in perfect vertical equilibrium, collapsed right where the ashtray had been until just a few seconds earlier. The smoker was embarrassed in front of the young woman he was talking to, and Bunny gained another piece of expensive silver. But the biggest loser was certainly the tablecloth.