“But now how are you going to pay the rent? I mean, have you got someone to help you? Your mom or dad, a relative, a boyfriend…?”
He casually threw the question out there, just to ascertain her status, while he swigged his wine to hide the fact.
“I’ve never had a real family, and regarding men…ugh, forget it!”
Red flags were waving in Ben’s mind, which made him curious to find out more. “In what way…do you mean you, and men…you don’t like…?”
He had always thought of himself as open-minded to the idea of a lesbian friend, but in all honesty, if it were true, it would have shattered a few of his fantasies he’d already had about Susan.
“Are you asking me if I like women? Well, what would be wrong with that? You like women, don’t you?”
He blushed for even bringing up the subject. Pushing his chair back, he sat up straight and tried to wipe the look of a predator off his face.
“Ya, I’ve always wondered how women do it.”
Susan burst out laughing, and Ben realized that he was way off the mark.
“You fell…hook, line and sinker!” Even if she couldn’t stop laughing, she did her best to control herself.
“You mean to tell me that you were pulling my leg?” Although relieved that she wasn’t into women, he was pretty shocked at the idea of being made fun of by someone he barely knew.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Plus I wanted to break up some of the tension. Are you ok now?”
She tilted her head and nibbling at a piece of bread, kept looking mischievously at him. That gesture, apparently insignificant, was extremely seductive to Ben. It went straight to his heart and tied him to her forever.
“Ya, thanks. It’s usually me who has to contrive ways to make other people laugh.”
The waiter brought their steamy first courses. For Ben, bucatini ‘all’amatriciana’ and for Susan, homemade fettuccine with pancetta and asparagus. While Ben rubbed his hands together in front of his plate, Susan’s stared, open-mouthed at hers.
“Wow! Except for pizza and spaghetti, can you believe that this is the first time I’ve ever tasted real Italian food?”
“Really? I have a hard time not eating it; in the traditional Italian family, cuisine is very important. So, ‘buon appetito’. I hope you enjoy it.”
At first, Susan found it a little difficult to twist the fettuccine around her fork, but then got the hang of it and started emanating sounds of rapture with every bite. The people dining at the nearby tables thought it was rather funny, while the owner of the restaurant was delighted.
When Susan had cleaned her plate, Ben offered her a taste of his bucatini and she didn’t hesitate.
“This food is amazing! Now I understand your parents!”
A cloud of nostalgia passed through Ben’s thoughts. “Actually, my Uncle Carmine raised me, along with my other uncles. My mother died giving birth to me. And my father, well, I only have a few memories of him. He was out for a walk and found himself in the middle of a shootout and was hit by a random bullet when I was just two-years-old. The greatest thing that I inherited from him was my vocation. He was a comedian, a great comedian. I think he would have made it big, if only he’d had the time.”
“So, in a way, you’re trying to break into the business to honor him?”
“Well, in part, yes. But mostly it’s for me. I truly love this work and I know he would have understood and supported me. Unlike my uncles…”
Ben wanted to talk about himself, but was worried about boring Susan, so he tried prompting her with incomplete sentences to see if she was really interested.
“Your relatives aren’t happy with what you do? So, do they want you to do something else?” asked Susan.
“They’d like me to do something a little more traditional. Like Uncle Johnny, who’s the manager of a company that deals with insurance.”
Ward’s Island Bridge
Two hulking men on the bridge had their sleeves rolled up to their elbows. One of the men’s biceps were so flexed, that the material of his shirt was on the verge of ripping.
“Damn you! I told you I should have got one size bigger!”
“What are you talking about? You tried it on a month ago at the shop and it fit perfectly. It isn’t my fault if you work out so much at the gym.”
The two of them, having what would have been a normal conversation in different circumstances, were actually swinging a passed out man upside down by the ankles over the side of the bridge.
“If this creep ruins my shirt, I swear I’ll let him drop like a rock!”
Johnny Greco, sick and tired of listening to the two men argue, threw down his cigarette butt. “You guys wanna shut up? And you don’t drop anybody without my permission, otherwise you get a nice little hole in your forehead, understood? This fuckin’ Chinese is worth his weight in gold, and I’d rather have the crisp banknotes than a useless cadaver!”
The man, intimidated, apologized immediately for his arrogant comment. “Sorry, Boss. I was just sayin’. Ten minutes now we been holding this fish who’s fainted and won’t wake up.”
Johnny looked over the bridge to see for himself and realized they were right. “All right, I’ll take care of this chickenshit.”
He unzipped his pants and started pissing over the bridge right into the poor man’s face, who instantly came to his senses, spluttering and gurgling.
“Well, well! Good morning! So what’s your decision? You want our insurance policy, or not?”
The poor wretch realized where he was and terrorized, started screaming. “Yes! Yes! I want it! I want it!”
Johnny smiled pleasantly for a job well done, lighting another cigarette to celebrate and seal the deal.
“Did you hear that guys? We have a new client. Pull him up before he shits in his own face.
The Italian Affair Restaurant
Ben listed all of the respectable occupations of his uncles as he had been told by them.
“…and my Uncle Frank works in finance, in banking.”
Somewhere in Manhattan: in a basement
Frank Colombo was silently and calmly examining the banknotes delivered by Bart Wilson, who was fauning for approval. “So, Boss? How does it look?”
Bart was more than satisfied with his work, but had to wait for the final word that only his boss could give. He had been working day and night for months; it was a question of principle more than anything.
“The paper is good quality, pleasing to the touch. The edges aren’t too soft, either and the color is pretty clear…”
The dark circles under Bart’s eyes lit up with pride while he tried to point out further details. “We also improved the loss of color on the seal.”
Frank picked up a piece of paper and held it under the banknote, then with his fingernail, he started scratching the seal. He then examined the paper and didn’t see any loss of color. He repeated the operation with a dull pencil and still didn’t see any loss of color. In one more attempt, he rubbed it harder to get a faint result. It looked like a job well-done…except for one tiny detail.
With the magnifying glass, he scrutinized the serial numbers.
“We’re still not there yet.”
Bart’s world came crashing down on him. He started stuttering, “W-w-we…we’re…still not there yet?”
“The serial numbers, see? They’re still not perfectly aligned. The rest is passable, not perfect, but pretty good. Now get back to work. I want a final result by the end of the week.”
“Sure, Boss. Consider it done.”
Staggering away from sheer exhaustion, Bart headed back to the drawing board.
The Italian Affair Restaurant
“They’d even be happy if I went to work at Uncle Carmine’s restaurant.”
The waiter then brought the second course to their table. “Here you are. Beef braised in Barolo wine with porcini mushrooms for the signorina. And seared lamb cooked on embers for you, sir. The roasted potatoes are on the house.”
“Thank you so much and send our compliments to Mario. Everything is exquisite, as usual.”
The waiter didn’t leave without first winking at Ben in reference to Susan’s beauty and choice of food. If she noticed, she didn’t show it.
“On one hand though, you’re lucky. I mean, whatever happens, you’re always covered.”
Ben felt his chest swell a bit. “Yes, it really has its advantages. It means I can dedicate all my time to my passion. I should say, though, that I’ve been pretty lucky since childhood. I remember the time, when I was ten-years-old, an encyclopedia salesman knocked on the door and gave me a beautiful new soccer ball, just to promote his books. It was the exact same ball that a neighborhood kid had stolen from me just a few hours before.
Twenty years ago
The doorbell echoed throughout the house.
“Ben! Someone’s at the door. Can you answer it?”
With eyes red and swollen from crying, little Ben did as his uncle asked and answered the door. Standing in front of him was a hunched over man with a beat-up face. He took off his hat and greeted the boy with a forced smile that was missing three or four teeth.
“Hello‘fere, young man. I’m a falefman for the Academic American Enfyclopedia.”
Skeptical and unsure, Ben stared at the man.
“I waf paffing frough your neighborhood to prefent my bookf and to give a prefent to the good boyf. Are you a good boy?”
Unsure of what the man in front of him was saying exactly, Ben understood perfectly the universal word “present”, and nodded his head.
“Well, then thif if for you!” The man, who was hiding his hand behind his back, presented Ben with a beautiful new soccer ball. Ben’s sad and desolate expression immediately transformed into joy and happiness.
“Wow! Is it really mine? It’s exactly like the ball that son-of-a-bitch Jim stole from me!”
The man’s upper lip trembled slightly, but he managed not to fall completely apart.
“Yef, fon. It’f a prefent for you! I have to be on my way now. Pleafe fay hello to your uncle for me.”
In silence, the man left the way he arrived, leaving Ben happy, but puzzled by the man’s parting words.
“Look! Look what some strange man gave me!”
The Italian Affair Restaurant
“When I say it like that, it seems silly. But believe me, that’s just one example of many random incidents that sound like I'm making them up. Every time something bad happened, some kind of karma would intervene and turn the situation around in my favor.”
Susan listened to everything, but not in awe like most people would have. Ben appreciated this aspect of her personality; the way she accentuated her positive opinion of him as if he were someone special.
“Yeah! Like the scales of justice. C’mon, tell me more. Just one more story to satisfy my hope that there is a God.”
Ben smiled pleasantly and stalled for time wiping his mouth with his napkin, while trying to think of another interesting and original story.
“I remember when I was sixteen and had just got my drivers’ license. I had worked all summer in a fast-food joint to save up for my first car. With that money, I bought an olive green ’77 Buick. It wasn’t the hottest car, but that was all I could afford and the salesman guaranteed that it was good for several thousand more miles. I remember how excited I was to have something that was all mine, that I had earned with hard work. I felt like an adult. Then about an hour later, I felt like a complete idiot. While I was driving, the engine started smoking and then the car took its last breath…and broke down. I went home with my tail between my legs. I was so mad, especially at myself, for letting someone rip me off like that. I didn’t sleep a wink that night.”
“So I guess you went back to the salesman the next day.”
“You bet! But the dealership told me that the salesman had quit and anyway, the title in my name was nontransferable to a different car.”
“Outrageous! You were swindled,” said Susan, shocked.
“Yep. And the worst part was that I couldn’t do anything about it. The proof was in the paperwork.”
“So what was the heaven sent lucky break?”
“A phone call,” said Ben, holding out for suspense.
But Susan tried to answer before Ben, “Don’t tell me that the salesman felt sorry for you and gave you back your money?”
“Nope. Even better than that. The same dealership contacted me to tell me that I had won a contest they had announced, of which I hadn’t the slightest memory of entering. I guess among all the paperwork I had signed, there must have been something about a contest. Anyway, the fact is, first prize was a car that I could have never afforded: a cherried-out, flaming red Mustang!”
“That’s amazing! I’ve never met anyone who’s ever won anything in a contest…unless they were related or the mistress of some manager.” Susan seemed really sincere, even though she appeared to be a chronic pessimist.
“Well,” said Ben “I don’t think that it’s just a question of pure luck. I mean, most people never win contests because they don’t participate. They either give up before trying or just don’t tempt fate.”
Susan felt hurt by his accusation of inertia. “What? I don’t agree at all! I would have signed up for hundreds, if not thousands of contests without having won even a consolation prize. You just got really lucky. That’s all, just luck, honey!”
Calling him “honey”, even if blatantly sarcastic, went straight to his head, giving him a smug sense of satisfaction.
“It’s not as rare as you think, you know. Lots of times in my family, we’ve won unexpected prizes from promotions from some brand of cereal or another.”
“We’re not talking about some little toy for kids. We’re talking about a car and…can I dip some of my bread in your sauce, too?”
“Ah, you want to try the ‘scarpetta’?”
“The what?” she asked.
“The ‘scarpetta’. It’s a typical Roman expression, it means ‘little shoe’, but it doesn’t refer to the shoe you wear on your foot. It’s an imitation of the gesture of the workers who cut and sculpted rock from the quarries. These guys were called ‘scalpellini’, or stonecutters. They shaved the slabs of Piperno stone before carving it, just like we’re doing right here with our bread on our plates.”
“Wow! That doesn't sound quite as tasty as bread and sauce, though. I was just hoping some of your good luck would rub off on me to help me find a new job.” Susan's request wasn't presumptuous in the least.
“Of course! Why didn't I think of it sooner? If it's all right with you, I could ask my Uncle Carmine if he needs a waitress at his restaurant. At least nobody would lay a hand on you there.”
“Really? That would be great! That's exactly the kind of job I'm looking for. Thank you so much!”
In a surge of excitement, she threw her arms around him, almost knocking over the bottle of water on the table. Ben was taken by surprise by the unexpected contact of her prominent bosom, as well as the loud kiss she planted on his cheek.
“You're welcome. If I had known that this was the reward, I would have asked you a lot sooner. So how about this, you can come with me tomorrow to the restaurant and I can introduce you in person to my uncle. When he sees how pretty you are, he'll hire you on the spot!”
“Tomorrow? Oh no, I have an appointment that I absolutely can't miss,” said Susan.
“All right, no problem. I'll talk to my uncle first, then we can make the introductions. How about day after tomorrow? Unless your appointment will take longer than a day?”
“No, the day after tomorrow is perfect. I have an exam at the university tomorrow.”
“Really? You didn't tell me that you study. What are you specializing in exactly?” asked Ben.
“Law. My dream is to become an attorney one day.”
“That's fantastic! Fighting crime on the front line. If you need a hand, just give me a call!”
The Italian Affair Restaurant: at the table next to Ben and Susan
The Observer, Guido “Baguette” Bernard, known for his tall, thin stature and his French-Italian origins, couldn't help but murmur his thoughts out loud. “Holy Mother of God! And now what am I gonna tell the Boss?”
Chapter 3
Ben sat in front of his Uncle Carmine, who was taking his time answering.
“So, Uncle Carmine? What do you think? Can you find a job for my friend at your restaurant?”
His hesitation in responding had little to do with not wanting to grant Ben his wish, but more to do with playing for time to come up with a counteroffer.
He was a businessman, after all, whether it meant dealing with a stranger, or his nephew. He lived by a rule over the years; every favor asked of him that he was able to grant, required an immediate payback by the person asking. And the payback had to be, if not greater than the favor, at least equal to it.
“I was just thinking how lucky your friend is. Do you remember Pablo Ruido, the Mexican waiter? Well, just yesterday, he was telling me how homesick he was and how he would love to retire and go back to Mexico. He worked his entire life, and I believe that a man should know when to call it quits and rest. Regarding your friend, this could be just what the doctor ordered.”
Ben jumped up from his chair, beaming with happiness at the opportunity that he could offer Susan, overjoyed at the prospect of keeping the half-promise he had made to her. He started rambling his thanks to his uncle, who, after being pleasantly flattered, interrupted Ben with a hard stare.
“I knew I could count on my favorite uncle! That's what I always say to people: my Uncle Carmine is the most extraordinary and generous person on the face of the earth. If you ever have a problem, go see him, 'cause he can fix anything in a heartbeat!”
When Carmine was satisfied with enough compliments, he stopped Ben's babbling. “Are you finished with the rigamarole?”
Ben shut up and sat back down, like a schoolboy reprimanded by his teacher. “Yes, Uncle Carmine. Sorry.”
“I was just saying that it could be a stroke of luck, not that it will be.”
Ben's enthusiasm vanished into thin air. “But Uncle Carmine, I told you that she already has experience and she's a nice, honest girl!”
“The fact is, dear Benito…” When Carmine called Ben by his full name, it could only mean one thing: a forthcoming lecture. “…I had you in mind for that job. Hold on, don't interrupt me, let me finish what I want to say to you.”
Ben gazed into the air with a lost expression. He was imagining a way to fend off his uncle, allowing him to keep the promise he had made to himself; that no matter what, under any circumstance, nothing would keep him from following his dream. He was preparing to tell his uncle a flat out “no”.
“Obviously, I already know what your answer is,” said Carmine. “You've told me hundreds of times, so stop worrying. That's not what I'm about to say. You've also made it very clear that you don't want any help from my friends or from your uncles to break into show business. I do, however, have something I would like to propose to you. I'll do a favor for you and hire your friend and you pay me back by coming to work at my place as a stand-up comedian.”
Carmine picked up the glass in front of him and knocked it back in one gulp. None of his friends would have ever guessed that the glass wasn't full of alcohol, and Ben, who was floored by his uncle's offer, would have liked nothing more than a drink right then.
“But aren't you the one who was embarrassed to have a nephew who made people… laugh?”
“What's that got to do with anything? Competition is high and the restaurant needs some new blood to bring people in,” said Carmine. “If you're half as good as you say you are, then I'll have doubled my money. I can fill the restaurant with people and you'll finally have a job. Think about it before you say no, 'cause whether or not you agree, I'm gonna put someone on that stage. If it's not you, it'll be someone else, and you'll have thrown away a big chance that won't present itself again.”
For the first time in his life, his uncle was making him an offer that honored his ideas. A once-in-a-lifetime offer that only a true artist gets and is too good to turn down. Not to mention that his restaurant was popular among high profile people that would increase his chances of getting noticed, maybe even by someone important who could give him his big break… maybe even Hollywood!
“So? How much time are you gonna need to decide?” asked Carmine. He added a little more pressure to get the answer he wanted, “It would mean I'd have to turn down someone else's offer… but I'll admit, yours is a lot more interesting. As long as you agree to the pay, of course.”
“Hey! Don't try to buy low, sell high with me. There are people out there who'd accept the job for free. You can be sure that the salary I have in mind would be more than fair!” Ben knew right then that he was pushing his luck. “All right. I was just kidding. I accept!”
Carmine stood up from his chair, applauding in a slightly annoyed and resigned mood. “Look at you. You're acting like you're the one doing me a favor. Listen to me, dear little nephew! Let's get one thing clear: your show better be really exceptional. If it isn't, I swear on your father's grave that I will personally kick your ass out the door!”
Knowing his uncle, Ben could bet on his life that he was as good as his word and his unveiled threat brought his level of anxiety up a notch or two, causing him to keep his composure in check.
“You won't be sorry. On the contrary, you'll be one of the first to applaud,” said Ben.
“I hope so… for you! Tell your friend to show up at the restaurant day after tomorrow morning at eight. And you get busy with a decent cabaret act. You have two weeks and not a day more. Now, get outta here. I've got work to do.”
Ben made his way abashedly to the door, leaving a grouchy Carmine to his paperwork. In that moment, he realized what had truly happened. “Uncle Carmine? One last thing. Thank you.”
For some reason, his nephew's “Thank you” touched his tough, old heart. Deep down, he loved his nephew, even if he would never let it show. “Ya, ya. Now get outta here.”
Ben was in seventh heaven. He ran to the nearest phone to call Susan with the happy announcement. She was already in a good mood for having aced her exam that morning. Ben's news sent her over the top, giving her a sense of optimism and hope that maybe some of Ben's good luck really was rubbing off on her.
The Observers, Valerio Esposito and Willy Whoosh had to endure the latest scolding from their Boss, while they cursed themselves for keeping Susan's aspirations of becoming a lawyer under wraps.
“Why did I have to find out from her at the interview? What the hell do I pay you for? Well, it's too late now. I've already promised Ben and I can't go back on my word. I want to know everything about her: where she hangs out, where she goes shopping, who she meets and what she eats. Start with her family and relatives and leave no stone unturned! And don't forget, keep an eye on her at all times! I don't want any surprises. One last thing, did Pablo Ruido give you any trouble?”
“He whined a little at first, until he saw his payout,” said Willy, a bit smugly. “If you want my opinion, you were too generous with that Mexican…”
Carmine stared hard into Willy's eyes with a look that would have scared a ferocious pit bull. “I don't pay you to hear your opinion, least of all to shoot your mouth off. That man was faithful to me for many years. I never forget loyalty. That's the only way to earn respect. Now go, and leave me alone with Esposito before I make note of my generosity when it's your turn to leave us.”
Willy turned white as a sheet and lowered his head in submission. He bit his lips in an attempt to hold back anymore useless words and left.
Even though they were alone, Esposito waited for a signal from his boss before speaking. They both lifted a finger as their “starter” cue.
“I already mentioned to Joe…,” began Esposito, then held up his hand to correct himself. For years, it was held in the highest consideration by the entire family that when one of them were alone with Joe Santini, they could call him Joe, but in the company of other people, he should be referred to by his title.
Esposito continued, “…to the Boss, that the girl has had a certain impact on your nephew. I believe that it would be a good idea to direct his attention toward other women before it becomes a more complicated problem.”
Carmine let out a big sigh. Why did life have to feel like he was constantly putting out fires? As soon as he fixed one problem, another one popped up. “The girl… Susan, is very pretty. We would need to find another that measures up, that would catch his interest. Though I doubt he would be interested in anyone else as long as he's got it in his head that Susan's the one. Just like his father… God rest his soul.”
“In my opinion, two big tits and a nice ass work miracles on a man. I've got one chick in mind that could resurrect the dead. Her name is Lola. She's from the Meat Packing District. She is number one on Gansevoort Street!” said Esposito.
“A prostitute…” Carmine was reluctant. It wasn't a question of morals; he was first in line when he had the time and longing. But it was different for his nephew. Ben was young and handsome, and certainly didn't need a hooker.
The entire family agreed that Esposito's best quality was his ability to tune into the person to whom he was speaking, deducing even the smallest phrases and reading the slightest facial movements, already knowing what they were thinking and what they were going to say.
“With all due respect, sir, I doubt that a woman like Lola would be easy to win over, even for an attractive boy like your nephew. The fact that she is a professional would make everything easier for all of us. Give your nephew a few nights of passion with Lola, and Susan will be sweet history. This way, getting rid of her will be painless.”
Esposito's argument was pretty convincing.
“Let's give it a try. Make contact with this Lola and take her to a boutique and get her a nice wardrobe. I don't want her looking like a hooker. Explain the situation to her, then we'll invite her to dinner. We'll find a way to leave the two of them alone together.”
“It would be ideal if we invented a good story that Lola could act out during the evening. Something moving that touches the heart.”
Carmine decided to entrust the creative mind of Esposito. ”Why not… any ideas?”
“Well, for starters, she could play the part of an elementary school teacher.”
Esposito recalled with pleasure one of their evenings. To satisfy one of his fantasies, he had her interpret the role of a school teacher: a blonde babe wearing glasses, a tiny low-cut white blouse and a short plaid skirt.
“She's from Ukrain, so we can give her a tormented past; she was a young orphan and had to go out in the street in the snow to sell matchsticks.”
“Matchsticks? Isn't that a children's fairy tale? Esposito, are you firing on all cylinders? No, here's what we're gonna do. An orphan is good, but she was adopted and her foster father was violent. He beat and abused her. When she turned eighteen, she ran away from home, finding odd jobs that allowed her to study at night school and became the woman she is today. What do you think?”
Esposito was almost crying. “I think that's the most touching story that I've ever heard, Boss. My compliments. You have an incredible imagination.”
“What imagination? It's the story of a soap opera that my wife used to watch, may she rest in peace.”
“Anyway, we need to come up with an explanation for Ben as to why she'll be at dinner at our house,” said Carmine.
“Lola can just show up at dinnertime as a volunteer for some orphanage, asking for a donation that we had promised to give to charity for the poor orphans. Then she can pretend to have forgotten the right day. At that point, we can invite her to join us for dinner,” said Esposito.
The idea was full-proof and could work.
“You know something? You're a really good liar. I hope your wife is the only one who needs to be careful.”
Carmine grabbed the phone and got Joe Santini's number. “Joe? Hey, it's Carmine. I just want your opinion on a deal regarding Ben… no, don't worry, he's not in any trouble. Actually, I think we might have a solution for our problem…”
In other circumstances, he would have sent Esposito over to explain, but on this occasion, he wanted to tell him himself. Joe agreed with the plan and gave him carte blanche to go ahead.
In the dark about his uncles' behind-the-scenes plans to orchestrate his life, Ben was busy getting his material ready for the show, when an unexpected phone call filled him with joy.
“Susan! How nice to hear from you so soon?”
“I hope I'm not bothering you. I've just been given two tickets for a concert this evening at the Webster Hall Nightclub and I wanted to ask if you wanted to come with me. I'd like to pay you back a little for all your kindness. It's the least I can do.”
He couldn't have been happier if she had offered ten gold bricks, so he immediately accepted before some other invitation could ruin his evening. “It will be a pleasure. Thank you. I can't think of anything better than some good music to help me unwind.”
After they worked out a time and place to meet, Ben hung up and realized that he had no knowledge of the music that would be playing. It wasn't important, after all. The only thing that mattered was that he was going to spend the evening with Susan, wherever they ended up was fine with him.
Chapter 4
Webster Hall at 125 East 11th Street
Judging by the long line of people waiting in front of the entrance, the event of the evening seemed to have attracted a lot of interest.
Susan gave off an almost tangibly exhilarated air, which contrasted with Ben's dark suspicion, as he kept looking around for something to reassure him. But the more he searched, the more his anxiety increased.
He figured that at least fifteen people, between those in front and those at the end of the line, could have very well spent the last two or three years behind bars. Not to mention their clothing, that appeared tenebrously sinister and bordered on something close to satanic. He found the courage to ask a question that might help him understand his surroundings a bit more.
“Susan, sorry but, what exactly are we going to see tonight?”
She looked at him like he had come from another planet. “What do you mean? Everybody knows Zoroaster from Atlanta!” Ignorance surrounded him, clearly revealed in his face.
“You really don't know who they are? I mean, don't you like Sludge Metal?”
He attempted a vague answer while clearing his voice, but Susan saw right through his posturing.
“I get it. You don't know and you need me to explain, right?” Despite his embarrassment, Ben had to confess that he had no idea what she was talking about.
