was part of the restaurant.
During the day, Daddy would play cards with assorted friends or play golf with Jimmy Alo and other old buddies. But mostly he worked, up all night at the Colonial Inn. Mommy never went with him. I’m not sure what she did. She shopped a lot and slept a lot. Her best friend there was Flo Alo, Uncle Jimmy’s Irish wife. The Alos had moved to Florida to a big house in Hollywood right on the water. Uncle Jimmy said New York was finished, overcrowded, falling apart, a decade before its urban problems became obvious; Miami to him was the shining future.
Mommy hated Uncle Jimmy for his endless womanizing, a continual slap in Flo’s face. Flo and Jimmy didn’t have children, so the marriage lacked that focus, though she did have two of her own with a previous husband. Flo never felt secure with Jimmy, no matter how many jewels and antiques and dresses she bought. But somehow they stayed together, thick or thin. Though Daddy didn’t insult Mommy with open affairs like Uncle Jimmy did with Flo, Mommy felt her pain. She even threw a drink in Uncle Jimmy’s face once, Buddy told me, and the two never spoke again. Flo was loyal to Mommy, and they kept their friendship, while Daddy and Jimmy kept theirs, separate but equal.
When Nancy came back to New York with us, Mommy seemed much more relieved than jealous. The divorce was already in the planning stage, and the jealousy days, if they ever existed, were behind her. The only thing that bothered my mother was when Daddy began buying expensive jewelry for Nancy. That didn’t stop him, though Nancy swore me to secrecy. In New York, Daddy moved an extra bed into my bedroom and Nancy slept there. It was like having a big sister. I loved it. Nancy really opened up the city to me, driving me everywhere in her brother’s roadster. I claimed the rumble seat in the back as my own. She’d take me to Bayshore to stay with her old-fashioned Italian family for weekends. I’d sleep in her bed with her, and go with the Attinas to the wrestling matches to see Gorgeous George. I had no idea the whole thing was staged. The spectacle was the thing.
The Attinas would eat pizza and spaghetti and meatballs and exotic Italian delicacies like the fried scungilli, which Mommy would probably have had quarantined if she had seen them. And somehow, around all this food, I developed an appetite. I couldn’t help thinking that this simple family in this simple home was infinitely happier than my rich one back at the Beresford, just like Terry’s family was happier and Elaine’s was happier. Everyone was happier. What good was being rich? I often prayed Nancy would fall in love with Buddy. Alas, it was not to be. She was saving herself for Frank Sinatra.
Nancy lived with us for a year and a half, until the divorce. Then Mommy let her go, to my great sadness. I think she thought Nancy was Daddy’s spy. She certainly was Daddy’s hire. If Daddy had to go, so did Nancy. We stayed friends, and I was greatly honored years later when she named her first child after me. But Mommy decided that she couldn’t delegate my upbringing to a young stranger, however kind. Whatever her depression problems, she was my mother, and she was going to rise to the occasion. After the divorce, in early 1947 (I believe it was on Valentine’s Day, of all times), Mommy, Buddy, Paul, and I had the huge Beresford apartment all to ourselves, with the two live-in black maids that Mommy had hired.
That same year, Mommy had decided to take me out of Birch Wathen and try public school. P.S. 87 was just a few blocks from the Beresford, but every morning Mommy would take me there in a cab. She would pick me up for lunch in a cab, take me back in a cab, then pick me up at school day’s end in a cab. We were making the Yellow Cab Company rich. The public school was very crowded, and I didn’t get much attention, not that I wanted any.
One day I ran away from school to play hooky and go swimming at Coney
During the day, Daddy would play cards with assorted friends or play golf with Jimmy Alo and other old buddies. But mostly he worked, up all night at the Colonial Inn. Mommy never went with him. I’m not sure what she did. She shopped a lot and slept a lot. Her best friend there was Flo Alo, Uncle Jimmy’s Irish wife. The Alos had moved to Florida to a big house in Hollywood right on the water. Uncle Jimmy said New York was finished, overcrowded, falling apart, a decade before its urban problems became obvious; Miami to him was the shining future.
Mommy hated Uncle Jimmy for his endless womanizing, a continual slap in Flo’s face. Flo and Jimmy didn’t have children, so the marriage lacked that focus, though she did have two of her own with a previous husband. Flo never felt secure with Jimmy, no matter how many jewels and antiques and dresses she bought. But somehow they stayed together, thick or thin. Though Daddy didn’t insult Mommy with open affairs like Uncle Jimmy did with Flo, Mommy felt her pain. She even threw a drink in Uncle Jimmy’s face once, Buddy told me, and the two never spoke again. Flo was loyal to Mommy, and they kept their friendship, while Daddy and Jimmy kept theirs, separate but equal.
When Nancy came back to New York with us, Mommy seemed much more relieved than jealous. The divorce was already in the planning stage, and the jealousy days, if they ever existed, were behind her. The only thing that bothered my mother was when Daddy began buying expensive jewelry for Nancy. That didn’t stop him, though Nancy swore me to secrecy. In New York, Daddy moved an extra bed into my bedroom and Nancy slept there. It was like having a big sister. I loved it. Nancy really opened up the city to me, driving me everywhere in her brother’s roadster. I claimed the rumble seat in the back as my own. She’d take me to Bayshore to stay with her old-fashioned Italian family for weekends. I’d sleep in her bed with her, and go with the Attinas to the wrestling matches to see Gorgeous George. I had no idea the whole thing was staged. The spectacle was the thing.
The Attinas would eat pizza and spaghetti and meatballs and exotic Italian delicacies like the fried scungilli, which Mommy would probably have had quarantined if she had seen them. And somehow, around all this food, I developed an appetite. I couldn’t help thinking that this simple family in this simple home was infinitely happier than my rich one back at the Beresford, just like Terry’s family was happier and Elaine’s was happier. Everyone was happier. What good was being rich? I often prayed Nancy would fall in love with Buddy. Alas, it was not to be. She was saving herself for Frank Sinatra.
Nancy lived with us for a year and a half, until the divorce. Then Mommy let her go, to my great sadness. I think she thought Nancy was Daddy’s spy. She certainly was Daddy’s hire. If Daddy had to go, so did Nancy. We stayed friends, and I was greatly honored years later when she named her first child after me. But Mommy decided that she couldn’t delegate my upbringing to a young stranger, however kind. Whatever her depression problems, she was my mother, and she was going to rise to the occasion. After the divorce, in early 1947 (I believe it was on Valentine’s Day, of all times), Mommy, Buddy, Paul, and I had the huge Beresford apartment all to ourselves, with the two live-in black maids that Mommy had hired.
That same year, Mommy had decided to take me out of Birch Wathen and try public school. P.S. 87 was just a few blocks from the Beresford, but every morning Mommy would take me there in a cab. She would pick me up for lunch in a cab, take me back in a cab, then pick me up at school day’s end in a cab. We were making the Yellow Cab Company rich. The public school was very crowded, and I didn’t get much attention, not that I wanted any.
One day I ran away from school to play hooky and go swimming at Coney
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