Page 6 of Nick's Baby

His brow shot up, questioningly.

"And, no, I'm not off my rocker, as I assume you're thinking." She wrung her hands once more and Nick saw the inner turmoil in her eyes. "You've passed one test. You're still here. You must need money badly if you'd consider a job from something so trivial as a note in a restaurant."

The barb stung, but what could Nick say. He was desperate for cash. One job wasn't enough for what he needed to do.

She sat down again, her posture very regal, her hands tightening against the armrest. Slipping on her glasses she looked at the application again.

"I see you still live with your mother."

"I take care of my mother and family."

"Oh, then you're—" She swallowed, "—married?"

"No wife, just a mother, a sister and a younger brother to look after. My two older brothers married and moved off."

"You're Italian?"

"That's right."

"You're Catholic?"

"Also right." His voice started to harden.

"That could be a drawback."

Nick nodded and this time he stared directly at her until she met his gaze. "I'm from an old Italian family, and believe me; babies aren't born into this world that way. Not where I come from."

A blush crept across her cheeks. "Of course, I understand."

Did she? He doubted that.

"I'm Irish Catholic." she continued. "I realize what I'm asking of you, Nick. Your only consolation might be the money. So tell me, why do you need it so badly?"

"We rent on 47th street." He cleared his throat. "In Clinton, better known to most as 'Hell's Kitchen. My mama, sister and younger brother, live there too, I take care of them. I own a garage on 44th."

"Oh, you live in Midtown West?"

"No ma'am. Hell's Kitchen. It'll always be Hell's Kitchen no matter how many skyscrapers they decide to put up. No matter how many tenement buildings they tear down."

"I see. You are a product of the zoning wars?"

"That's it. I want my family outta there. It ain't the same anymore, with rice wars on rent, porn shops offering top dollar for land. We got rid of some of the problems and earned a few more in the process. I'm sure you're aware. Reconstruction sometimes causes people to rebel, in one way or another. Not everyone can adjust to change, nor afford them. No, I want to buy Mama a house in Queens, in a quiet little neighborhood. I want to give them a better life."

"That's understandable. But why move, if reconstruction is improving the area, why not just move into a newer apartment building?"

"Nah, If I'm going to pay those prices at least I want something worth it in the long run. A real house–a home. And I'm willing to work two jobs to get it. Three if necessary. It's something I been promising Mama for years. A place of her own. Where she can grow flowers and the kids can walk to school without fear."

"I see. Tell me about this garage of yours?"

"It's just a hole in the wall. I tinker with older cars, ya know the classics. It's not a business anymore, just a hang-out. A place for me to go. It don't bring in much, not in that neighborhood."

"Doesn't?"

"Huh?"

"I said it doesn't bring in much." She paused, grimacing slightly. "Sorry, bad habit I have of correcting people."

He didn't need this. No one needed to remind him of his lack of education, or that he was Italian, or Catholic. He stood and walked slowly to the door. "Look, I'd like to help, but I'm not the right guy."

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