“If Tommy and Joe looked like me, they wouldn't have made it nearly so big,” Ricky went on. “They've got the Gaspari looks, all white skin, red hair, and green eyes. Me? No one knows where I came from.” It was true; he didn't look anything like the pictures Lu had seen in the New Haven Register of his strapping, godlike brothers. “I'm the dark horse,” he went on. She was about to tell him that he was a very attractive person when it occurred to her that there wasn't anyone else in this part of the kitchen and she couldn't remember ever being alone with a boy who wasn't a relative. The newness of the situation made her feel nervous, and for a second she wondered if she and Paulie had been right to ignore Mama's rules. Then Ricky reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes and she saw how long and strong his fingers were and the dusting of dark hair on his arm where it came out of the sleeve of his jacket, and she stopped thinking about Mama.

She watched Ricky light his cigarette with a practiced flip of match to matchbook and then blow the smoke away so it wouldn't bother her. When Lu's brothers and their friends snuck a quick cigarette on the street corner, it had always seemed like a crude and unappealing thing to do, but somehow Ricky made it look smooth … and classy… and … suddenly she wasn't hungry anymore. She pushed her plate of lasagna away. Ricky seemed to read her mind.

“How old are you?” he asked in a voice that had suddenly gotten husky—from the cigarette smoke, she told herself.

“Sixteen. How old are you?” she managed.

“Seventeen.”

“You seem older.”

He looked at her for what seemed like a very long time, then crushed out his cigarette, stood up, and held out his hand to her. “Let's get out of here,” he said. She took his hand with the long fingers. It was warm and strong. She didn't ask him where they were going as he opened the back door of the kitchen so she could follow him outside. The nervous feeling was back. But it was a pleasant nervous feeling—like the kind that made you shiver with excitement backstage because you were so eager to go out and sing.

*   *   *

THERE WAS A lawn leading up to the front entrance of the Villa Veneto, and chairs, benches, and a couple of swings on frames were scattered on it. But to Lu's surprise, Ricky headed in the opposite direction. The warm, strong hand that was still holding hers led her to the parking lot at the side of the restaurant. They walked over to a motorcycle. “It's mine,” he said proudly. “You want to go for a spin?”