accident?”
“Synchronicity,” Tyrone and I said together. Tyrone held up an open hand for a high five, and I blundered into a reciprocal gesture that couldn’t have been clumsier if I’d been in a straitjacket. Tyrone grinned but had the good sense to keep his mouth shut.
“That’s it,” Rina said. “Giorgio was the only one I didn’t really focus on in my paper, so he was the most fun to research, you know? ’Cause it was all new to me. So sit down and look at all this.”
All this
was a veritable blizzard of facts, hype, urban myths, statistics, photos, fan clubs, love letters, concert souvenirs, scrapbook pages, mp3 files of Giorgio imitating someone who was singing, everything except the kid’s fingerprints and social security number.
“Here’s the recap,” Rina said, pulling a stack of pages out of her printer. “Born in 1943, in Philadelphia. Had a little trouble with the cops when he was twelve or thirteen or something, pre-shave, anyway. He got arrested for trying to buy liquor—boy, thirteen’s pretty young to try that one—and he was in a stolen car another time, although he wasn’t driving and it looked like he didn’t know it was stolen. For a kid in that neighborhood, he was a good boy. Father was a roofer, mother, who’s still alive, was a housewife. They’d probably call her a
homemaker
today.”
“Your mother always called herself a housewipe,” I said, “because—”
“Because she spent most of her time wiping stuff,” Rina said. “That joke is still alive and well. Got a laugh out of Bill recently.”
“Good,” I said. “Glad to know Kathy’s found someone who’s easily amused.”
“He actually laughs at the funny papers.”
I suppose I said something, but in my head I was running a sort of equation:
funny papers=morning paper=Bill in my house at breakfast=Bill spending night while Rina is here=Junior killing Bill
.
“Got discovered by that guy DiGaudio sitting on his front stoop,” Rina was saying when I surfaced. She was looking at the pages in her hand. “Whatever a stoop is. He was sixteen, so it was 1959. DiGaudio seems to have driven around all the time—kind of creepy, huh?—just searching for kids who had a
look
, you know, that sort of Elvis thing? He’d promise them the moon and sign them up, and three weeks later they’d be on this show called
American Dance Hall
that I guess everybody watched back then, and a week after that they’d be on
Billboard
’s Hot 100. They’d get towed around the country, singing on a bill with half a dozen other acts.”
“White acts,” Tyrone said.
“Sure. It would have been cruel to put them onstage with black acts.”
“Cruel to put Giorgio on a stage anywhere,” Tyrone said.
“You don’t get it, Tyrone,” Rina said, sounding like her mother. “All he had to do was stand there. It wasn’t like anybody could hear him. He just came on stage, and the girls screamed. I found a contract online that has what they called ‘The Giorgio Clause’ in it. It says that DiGaudio Enterprises has to turn over two hundred dollars from the ticket sales to pay for people to wash the seats after the show. Because so many girls peed themselves.”
I wrenched myself away from the deep red zone of revenge on Bill to say, “For
him
? That lox? The kid I saw on YouTube?”
“Lox?” Rina said. “He was beautiful, even if he didn’t have any talent. How often do you see someone who’s really beautiful? Pretty, sure, cute, sure, but not beautiful. That’s why he turned into a movie star.”
My cell phone rang. “You just stay here,” I said to Rina. “Here, in this parallel universe where there was a movie star named Giorgio, and I’ll be right back.” I put the phone to my ear and said, “Hi,” as I went into the hall.
“Got a pencil?” DiGaudio the cop said.
“No
hello
? No
how you doing
?” I said, searching my pockets. “Hang on a second.” I got out the pad and pen I’d brought in from the
“Synchronicity,” Tyrone and I said together. Tyrone held up an open hand for a high five, and I blundered into a reciprocal gesture that couldn’t have been clumsier if I’d been in a straitjacket. Tyrone grinned but had the good sense to keep his mouth shut.
“That’s it,” Rina said. “Giorgio was the only one I didn’t really focus on in my paper, so he was the most fun to research, you know? ’Cause it was all new to me. So sit down and look at all this.”
All this
was a veritable blizzard of facts, hype, urban myths, statistics, photos, fan clubs, love letters, concert souvenirs, scrapbook pages, mp3 files of Giorgio imitating someone who was singing, everything except the kid’s fingerprints and social security number.
“Here’s the recap,” Rina said, pulling a stack of pages out of her printer. “Born in 1943, in Philadelphia. Had a little trouble with the cops when he was twelve or thirteen or something, pre-shave, anyway. He got arrested for trying to buy liquor—boy, thirteen’s pretty young to try that one—and he was in a stolen car another time, although he wasn’t driving and it looked like he didn’t know it was stolen. For a kid in that neighborhood, he was a good boy. Father was a roofer, mother, who’s still alive, was a housewife. They’d probably call her a
homemaker
today.”
“Your mother always called herself a housewipe,” I said, “because—”
“Because she spent most of her time wiping stuff,” Rina said. “That joke is still alive and well. Got a laugh out of Bill recently.”
“Good,” I said. “Glad to know Kathy’s found someone who’s easily amused.”
“He actually laughs at the funny papers.”
I suppose I said something, but in my head I was running a sort of equation:
funny papers=morning paper=Bill in my house at breakfast=Bill spending night while Rina is here=Junior killing Bill
.
“Got discovered by that guy DiGaudio sitting on his front stoop,” Rina was saying when I surfaced. She was looking at the pages in her hand. “Whatever a stoop is. He was sixteen, so it was 1959. DiGaudio seems to have driven around all the time—kind of creepy, huh?—just searching for kids who had a
look
, you know, that sort of Elvis thing? He’d promise them the moon and sign them up, and three weeks later they’d be on this show called
American Dance Hall
that I guess everybody watched back then, and a week after that they’d be on
Billboard
’s Hot 100. They’d get towed around the country, singing on a bill with half a dozen other acts.”
“White acts,” Tyrone said.
“Sure. It would have been cruel to put them onstage with black acts.”
“Cruel to put Giorgio on a stage anywhere,” Tyrone said.
“You don’t get it, Tyrone,” Rina said, sounding like her mother. “All he had to do was stand there. It wasn’t like anybody could hear him. He just came on stage, and the girls screamed. I found a contract online that has what they called ‘The Giorgio Clause’ in it. It says that DiGaudio Enterprises has to turn over two hundred dollars from the ticket sales to pay for people to wash the seats after the show. Because so many girls peed themselves.”
I wrenched myself away from the deep red zone of revenge on Bill to say, “For
him
? That lox? The kid I saw on YouTube?”
“Lox?” Rina said. “He was beautiful, even if he didn’t have any talent. How often do you see someone who’s really beautiful? Pretty, sure, cute, sure, but not beautiful. That’s why he turned into a movie star.”
My cell phone rang. “You just stay here,” I said to Rina. “Here, in this parallel universe where there was a movie star named Giorgio, and I’ll be right back.” I put the phone to my ear and said, “Hi,” as I went into the hall.
“Got a pencil?” DiGaudio the cop said.
“No
hello
? No
how you doing
?” I said, searching my pockets. “Hang on a second.” I got out the pad and pen I’d brought in from the
Similar Books
