When I moved into the trailer I had bought from the lesbian-soon-to- be-Nun, I never realized how much further my experiential horizons would expand. Nowadays, there is a quaint game called six degrees of separation from Kevin Bacon (a film actor).

 

     The game is based on an assertion by Kevin Bacon that everyone is separated by no more than six people from each other.

 

     Ironically, I became one degree of separation from this famous actor when I moved into this particular trailer park in Phoenixville, I met one of the many younger teenagers that lived in or near the park. They liked to hang out, watching Harry, Larry and me workout, often drinking beer with us. It was no big deal, as we were all underage.

 

      One of the kids was out of high school and the most mature and levelheaded of his group, with a thick head of reddish-brown hair and lots of freckles. He looked oddly familiar to me.

 

      I have always had the habit of associating the way someone looks with someone famous. I leaned closer to take in his features more completely and told him, “Hey, you look like a young guy who played in ‘Animal House.'"

 

      The kid had the last name of Bacon and laughed. “That’s my cousin, Kevin Bacon.”

 

      I shrugged and said, “The name doesn’t mean shit to me, but you sure do look like that guy.

 

      Anyway, this kid Bacon had a girlfriend he was regularly having sex with, which at their age, was rather racy. She had a friend, a luscious looking Italian girl.

 

      A lot of the guys in the area lusted after her and more than a few had put the hit on her—she cut them off at the knees. She had just turned eighteen and I was not quite twenty-one.

 

      She let her friend know that she found me very attractive and was interested in going out with me.

      A lot of the guys in the trailer park wondered why she would pick an older guy like me rather that one of them. Admittedly, for a few short years I was good-looking, but some of these guys were far better looking than me. Bacon looked at them with the insight of a young man who had been enjoying action on a regular basis for a few years.

 

      He said, “That’s because she figures Vinny probably knows what to do in bed, whereas you guys don’t know much more than what to do with your hand.”

 

      Another smart-ass agreed with him. “Yeah, knowing you guys, you’d go straight for a home-run the clitoris.

 

     Women like a guy who knows how to warm them up.”

 

      I was eager to get together with this Italian beauty. My head was filled with visions of carnal delight.

 

      The first time we went out, our petting was passionate, but the merger in this deal didn’t close. I was actually glad it hadn’t. I was learning to appreciate the art of the hunt and the anticipation that went along with it.

 

      I really found this girl very attractive on every level. For reasons I can’t get into, I will refer to her as Apollonia Fabaini.

 

      The second time we were to be together, she invited me over to her father’s house where she still lived. I felt more confident meeting this girl’s father than I had been with Kathy’s father, Mr. Granite. I was now a man of the world, almost six years older, and an ex-marine. I also had a promising career with the Federal Government and was planning on going to college when I got better situated.

 

      Now I was confident that, thug or not, I had more to offer a girl from a low-middle class neighborhood than most of the “goombas” in the area. I went to the address that Apollonia had given me. Her house was like a lot of houses back east which are often situated on a decent size lots. From the outside, the house looked rundown and spoke of a man barely scrapping by financially.

 

      “No doubt he’ll be pleased the guy his daughter is dating works for an agency in the federal government,” I thought. “I just hope he doesn’t ask me to loan him money.” I knocked on the door and Apollonia answered the door.

 

      She greeted me with an eager kiss and took me through the front room, which looked drab. Its furnishings were old and worn, but clean, like those of a poor older couple. My bladder was full and I asked if I could use the bathroom.

 

      She took me to a door on the right, which opened to a hallway that led to a laundry room and very modest bathroom. I did my business and checked out the other door that had a sign saying:  Dad’s work area. 

 

     “My God, he must be really struggling,” I thought.

      Because of my own struggles in life, I not only empathized with his poverty, but also found it repulsive to think that a man could work all his life and still be living this level of unremarkable existence, family man or not.

 

      I went back to the front room where Apollonia was waiting patiently for me. She grabbed my arm affectionately and took me through another set of doors, which led through what looked like a giant pantry. It appeared to be filled with enough food for an army. There was another door at the far end, which led into a large warm kitchen.

 

      The kitchen had a much different look than the rest of the house. It was as if we had walked through an inter-dimensional portal. There was an expensively tiled floor and the counter tops appeared to be covered in white marble slabs that had gray and pink patterns and veins running throughout. The cabinets looked liked solid hardwood construction, not the cheaply made veneered-covered cabinets I would have expected, judging by the front room.

 

      There was also a chef’s island and over the large multi-burner stove was a large rack of expensive looking pots and pans that a New York chef would envy. On the other side of the breakfast counter was a good-sized area for a large dinner table, big enough to accommodate a large extended Italian family. Everything about this living area was bright, colorful, decorative and expensive, but not overly so; not to the extent some poor people are tempted to do to compensate for their poverty.

 

      The entire section of the house was very tasteful and welcoming. In the center of this wonderful kitchen was Apollonia’s mother, Alicia. She was a very attractive Italian-American woman in her early forties. Judging by the various pictures of her and the rest of her family scattered throughout the house, she had grown more voluptuous with age.

 

      I could see that Apollonia and her younger sister strongly resembled their mother. I thought that this bode well for any guy involved with Alicia’s daughters. Most likely their already beautiful, mature bodies would become more voluptuous, just like their mother’s had.

 

      In my experience, many Italian women have a tendency to grow very stocky, even downright plump, as they get older or, on the other extreme, they can become as spare as a scarecrow. Almost all Italian women love to eat. Some love to pig out, while others eat morsels here and there as they cook. Looking at Alicia, I was betting she loved to cook, but, like my mother, most of what she ate was what she picked and tasted as she cooked her wondrous meals.

 

      Her mother was dressed casually, but very nicely; a little more upscale than what a lot of American women would wear around the house as they cooked. Alicia came over and took my hand in a greeting and patted it with her other. Her hands were surprisingly warm and pleasant, wrapped around my own. She looked at me with large, heavily lashed dark eyes and her generous mouth spread into a large open smile, showing a set of beautiful teeth.

 

      “So please ta meetcha,” she welcomed in a thick South Philly accent. “My daughter tells me that sometimes you go by Vinny and your other friends call you Lazarus? Which do ya prefer, hon?”

 

      Mesmerized by her attractiveness and warm friendly, almost familial manner, I mumbled, “Which ever you prefer, Mrs. Fabaini.” As Mrs. Fabaini still held my hand in both of hers, she let out a deep rich laugh at my nervous formality that was almost musical.

 

      Then she grabbed both of my hands in hers and leaned back, as if to get a better appraisal of her daughter’s new love interest. “Your mother raised such a polite young man. Call me Alicia, I’m too young to be called Mrs., especially from such a nice young man that is seeing my daughter.”

 

      She tilted her head to give me another appraising look. “My daughter tells me you're half Italian-Sicilian… its Chimera, is it? You look like the Italian side of your family and, since Lazarus is more Biblical than Italian, I think I’ll call you Vinny…if you don’t mind? You look like a Vinny!”

 

      Still overwhelmed by all of this attention, I croaked, “Sure Mrs., I mean Alicia, I finished uncomfortably.

 

      “Good, It’s settled then. You call me Alicia and I will call you Vinny,” she said with finality.

      Apollonia still had an affectionate and possessive hand on one of my arms and Alicia still had both of my hands in hers. I was feeling both pleased and uncomfortable, both by the attention and the touchy-feely way most Italian’s have. I had not experienced this type of interaction for years, not since my mother had estranged herself from my dad’s Italian side of the family.

 

      Suddenly an old woman came in from another room. She looked to be in her seventies and was wearing a light-blue full-length dress that had an array of darker blue flowers sprinkled throughout. It was the type of dress that a lot of older, matronly Italian women wore around the house and at informal family gatherings. She had even darker skin than Alicia or Apollonia and her face was heavily seamed with wrinkles. Her hair was pulled into a severe bun and still had ropes of black mixed throughout the white. A very prominent long nose seemed to fold over her strong chin as if she were not wearing dentures.

 

      Mrs. Fabaini and Apollonia directed me over to meet this old woman. They were now each holding my hand as they introduced me.

 

      Mrs. Fabaini gestured towards the old woman. “This is my husband’s mother.”

      Apollonia said, “Grand Mama, this is Vinny, the boy I told you about… remember?”

      The old woman leaned in close, crinkling her eyes to get a better look at me. She reached out her hand and grasped my forearm and smiled. “He’s a gooda looking boya,” she remarked in a very thick Sicilian accent.

 

      She looked at me closer. “Youa Italiano!?’

      “Yes,” I admitted.

      “Gooda, gooda, my Apollonia is a sweeta girla….a gooda girla,” She emphasized.

      “Youa take care of my little girla! Capesse?”

      “Si, bella Nonna,” I said, hoping to ingratiate myself with her.

      She clapped her hands in delight at my obvious effort to impress her with my meager knowledge of Italian. Alicia and Apollonia also squealed in delight at my attempt to bond with their Grand Mama.

 

      Alicia looked at her daughter and made a sweeping motion, “Show Vinny around. I have to get back to my cooking.” Again she said, “Nice to meetcha, Vinny. You’re welcome to stay for dinner.” I mumbled my thanks as Apollonia grabbed my hand and dragged me into the rear yard.

 

      Her parent’s backyard was spacious and surrounded by a tall brick and stone-cut wall about eight feet in height. There was a profusion of ivy that had aggressively grown all over the walls. As soon as we went into the yard two large, strongly built German shepherds came galloping towards us.

 

      Apollonia yelled out, “Behave!” The dogs came up to get a sniff at me. “Don’t worry about them, you’re with me.”

      They did not seem as threatening as Mr. Granite’s Doberman. “They seem very friendly,” I said. They wagged their tails as I petted them.

      “They are if you’re with one of the family, or they get to know you.” She smiled. “You don’t want to be a stranger trespassing, especially at night.”

      We had walked onto a covered patio that extended out to a mid-size built-in pool. On the outer perimeter of the covered section, was a brick barbecue. The house sat on a big lot and I noticed a variety of fruit trees plus a few walnut and chestnut trees. Across the lot there was a garden and a very small vineyard, with a few varieties of grapes.

      “I love grapes. I really enjoy eating them, but I especially love grape wine, of course,” I added, “I tried to make wine myself, but it never turned out.”

      Apollonia said, “My Grand Papa and my dad use those grapes to make a few gallons of what they call ‘Dago Red.’ If you want, I can ask them to teach you.”

      Looking around, I said, “Your yard looks big enough for a large wedding or a small concert. Lots of privacy and security.” I gestured at the wall.

      She smiled, “My dad likes his privacy.”

      We went back into the house and she took me on a tour that included her bedroom, where she felt safe enough to initiate a few passionate kisses. Finally she grabbed my hand. “I want you to meet my father.”

 

      She took me downstairs, back through kitchen and down another hallway. She tried the knob on what appeared to be a heavy, solid-steel door with a peephole. The door had a hefty steel frame surrounding it and heavier deadbolt. Before we went down into the basement, I noticed an intercom system on the wall by the door.

 

      I pointed at it. “What’s that for?”

      Apollonia said, “If the doors locked, we can call down to see if my father is there. If he’s not busy or if it’s a family emergency, he can be notified to let us in.” The door opened easily. She looked pleased. “Good, we can go down. My dad often keeps it locked whether he’s down here or not.”

 

      Thinking about my High School principal and remembering the stories of his basement fortress, I was feeling uneasy. “Should we go down there then?”

 

      She laughed, “It’s okay, my dad never leaves it unlocked if he doesn’t want any of us down there.”

 

      We went down the steps, closing the door behind us. The stairs led to a very large fully finished basement with eight-foot ceilings. Basements like this are common back east and are usually equal to the floor space of the house above.

 

      If I had been amazed by the disparity of the furnishings between the back and front part of the house, I was doubly astounded with the basement. The paneling looked rich and expensive and a full bar ran most of the length of one wall. It looked to be made from expensive materials behind which hung a mirror set in the center and running about half the length of the bar. There was a seemingly wide array of bottled alcoholic beverage, like in a real bar.

 

      There were two pool tables plus a snooker table. One of the pool tables was regulation-size, the other barroom-size. In addition were a ping-pong table, an expensive full size air-hockey table, a table-shuffleboard, a dartboard and a few card tables.

 

      A big TV sat over by leather couches and chairs. Behind the bar were two smaller TV’s hung high on the wall at each end of the bar. On one TV, I saw a baseball game being played, on the other, a boxing match. The floor was carpeted and, unlike most basements, was dry and warm. Over at the far corner of the basement was a group of ten Italian looking men playing cards at two tables.

 

      Two more Italian looking men sat at the bar watching the card game and sometimes looking at the two TV’s. They looked like arm-breakers who appeared to be in their early thirties.

 

      Behind the bar was a big swarthy guy in his late thirties who eyed me intently as I followed Apollonia. He looked very attentive, not unlike Mr. Granite’s Doberman.

 

      Apollonia yelled merrily to the bartender, “Hey, Uncle Nicola, how you doing?”

      The big guy yelled back, “Apollonia, how’s my favorite niece? You look more beautiful every time I see you. You’re looking all grown up.” 

 

      She rushed over and they hugged each other over the bar. He gave her a big kiss on the forehead. “Who’s the guy?” He pointed his thumb towards me.

 

      She looked at me uncertainly. “This is my new boyfriend,” she said. “Vinny, this is Nicola Valente.”

 

      We shook hands. “How’s it hanging?” he said amicably. He looked over at the other men at the card tables, “Hey youse guys, Apollonia brought her beau to meet us!” Apollonia’s face flushed a hot red. All the men at the tables turned and yelled out assorted greetings at her.

 

      The three very-old Italian men sitting at their card table were not playing cards, but were drinking either coffee or wine. The other men were playing poker and had assorted drinks of beer, wine, hard liquor or cocktails of some sorts. Apollonia took me over to one of the men and introduced me.

 

      “Dad, this is Vinny…the guy I was telling you about,” she said with a bit of pride.

      Her father got up to shake my hand. He had very broad hands at the end of good-sized forearms. He gave a polite, but firm handshake as he smiled, showing straight, strong looking, tobacco stained teeth. “How ya doen, Vinny?”

 

      He also had a very heavy South Philly accent and sounded nasally as he snorted inwards in between sentences. I also thought I picked up an underlying accent that sounded familiar, but which I couldn’t quite place. He was about two inches taller than me and appeared to be about two hundred and twenty pounds. He was carrying considerable excess fat, but underneath that fat appeared to be a good deal of muscle. He was wearing a colorful shirt with very wide lapels that was popular in the seventies. It was open at the top, displaying a dense forest of black and gray chest hair. Laced through the hair was a gold chain, also popular among Italian men.

 

      The hair on his massive skull was starting to thin and what remained was combed backwards in the fashion of many conventional Italian and Sicilian men. His face was broad and course, with a few small but noticeable scars here and there. In the center of his face was a large nose that looked to have been broken and flattened more than a few times.

 

      Looking at his nose, I knew this was the reason he snorted inward between sentences. Underneath was a very bushy mustache that was both wide and broad. If he had been lean, it would have made him look fierce, but because of his excess weight, it added a jowly dimension to his once-square jaw. With his horn-rimmed glasses, he looked part dockworker, part club-fighter turned accountant.

 

      The most disarming thing about Mr. Fabaini was his eyes. They were a very large soft brown that had the look of gentle sensitivity and deep-searching wisdom. He had the air of a man who was extraordinarily compassionate and nice through and through, though capable of sizing a man up at a glance. There was a quiet charisma and force about him that made me, and the people around him, want to please him.

 

      “He seems like a good soul… a good fella”, I thought.

      After greeting me, he gave his daughter a big hug and kiss. I could tell she was the apple of his eye. Being a good host, he said, “Vinny, can I get you anything to drink? Beer, wine, soda? Just name it. He looked over at a six-foot two, enormously fat Italian guy. “Hey Sal, get Vinny here a sausage sandwich, if you would.”

 

      “Sure thing, Naz,” Sal agreed, then went into a little back room that was an honest to God kitchen.

 

      “Shit, they got everything down here…even a kitchen,” I thought. “Hell, and I was afraid this guy would hit me up for money…what a laugh.” I was grateful, but cautious, not wanting to be rude, “No…please…don’t trouble yourself,” I stammered.

 

      Everyone laughed and told me to relax and eat and drink.

 

      Mr. Fabaini smiled gently, “Hey Vinny, you don’t want to hurt my feelings, do ya?”

 Not wanting to be rude and wanting to address my hunger, I agreed to some food and drink.  

     

      “Let me introduce my friends and family to you.” Mr. Fabaini looked over at a guy sitting to his right and started introducing people from right to left, “This here is Big Angelo Sabatino, Enrico Pisaniello, my lawyer Antonio DeFazio and this is Little Sal Volpi…you met Fat Sal Ruggiero. He’s in the kitchen making your sandwich.” I shook hands with each of them and they all greeted me in very friendly manner. Then Mr. Fabaini took me over to the other table, picked out the man closest to me and started again with in his introductions.

 

      “This is Lorenzo Fani, Marco Genovese, Mario Tagliacozzi, Rento Maggio, and Giovanni Columbo.” He walked me over to the bar. “You met Nicola Valente, and these two stallions are Vincenzo Palermo and Luca Dante, both nephews of Little Sal over there.”

 

      Next came the three old men drinking wine or coffee. “These old mustachios are Sergio Pistilli, Carlos Sassano and my father Vito Fabaini.” Vito Fabaini looked like a withered, but still vigorous, older version of Apollonia’s father. He had an extraordinarily heavy, old-world Sicilian accent.

 

      He got up and shook my hand with a surprisingly strong grip. He was looking at me like he was examining a sturdy farm animal. He started to reach and test the firmness of my arms, shoulders and chest and then he smiled, laughed and started talking quickly in Sicilian to the men in the room.

 

      Then he looked at Mr. Fabaini and said something else in Sicilian. The only thing I can remember hearing clearly was that he kept on repeating the word tauru and he gestured with his hands like he was holding big grapefruits. All of the men in the room start to laugh heartily, both at what he said and my growing discomfort.

 

      I looked at Mr. Fabaini. “What did he say?”

 

      Mr. Fabaini looked at me with quiet amusement and said, “My papa says that you are built like a tauru…a bull. He says that you probably not only have balls, but great big balls like a bull. He’s a little worried you might be too much for his granddaughter to handle.” Everyone started to laugh at this except Apollonia, who was smiling, but embarrassed.

 

      Mr. Fabaini looked at his father, then clapped his strong hand on my shoulder and as he looked at me with those knowing eyes, told me, “I know that I don’t have to worry about Vinny dishonoring my Apollonia. I know Vinny would protect her honor with his life, if he had to.”

 

      He looked at me with greater emphatic intent and said, “Isn’t that right, Vinny?” Everyone in the room was looking at me with amused interest and seemed to act as if they now believed that I would protect Apollonia’s honor.

 

      I looked Mr. Fabaini in the eye and said with the sincerity that I felt at that instant, “Yes, I would protect her honor.” I knew at that minute that I could not and that I would not have sex with Apollonia. Especially since I was too scared of real commitment and marriage, something

 

      I knew this family expected, sex out of wedlock was out of the question. I felt that if I left it up to Apollonia, I would be doing the job on her within the month. She was a real firecracker and I would have to watch myself when she was around.

 

      Mr. Fabaini excused himself and returned to his card game, inviting me to make myself at home and play pool or air hockey with Apollonia. Fat Sal had made up a sandwich for Apollonia, as well. We went over to sit near the other big television as we ate. I took the opportunity to watch Mr. Fabaini and his merry band of friends. They were having fun the way I remembered my Italian and Sicilian relatives had when they played cards and made merry. As jolly as they were by comparison to my relatives, I sensed they had an edge to them my relatives did not have. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there seemed to be something feral about them or, perhaps I should say, more basic and direct.
 

      I don’t know why, but I could not imagine these fun people tolerating any guff from outsiders. It was just a feeling. I watched and listened to the sometimes irreverent jabs and ribbing they gave each other. They all, however, treated Mr. Fabaini with a lot more deference. They joked with him, but it seemed they were careful not to indulge in the slightly disrespectful banter with him that they took the liberty to do with each other. Mr. Fabaini seemed to treat each of them as if they were his most valued friend and relative and was very sensitive and generous of spirit towards all of them.

 

      I had the sense there was nothing that each of these men would do for him. Little Sal Volpi, sitting at Mr. Fabaini’s left side, had rung certain alarm bells in my nervous system. He had very thick dark hair that was combed straight back. His eyes were dark cruel obsidians situated in large heavily lidded openings. Though they were large and could even be called beautiful, to me they seemed like the eyes of a predatory lizard.

 

      I think it was the heavy lids and his infrequent and slow blinking eyes that added to the effect. When he smiled, he showed very good, strong-looking white teeth, surrounded by full broad lips. On the upper lip he sported a very dense well-trimmed black mustache kept so thin it was almost a pencil mustache. It seemed a style a vain aristocrat would wear.       

    

      His nose was large and reminded me of a bird of prey, though he would have been considered to be extraordinarily handsome, but for his very sallow complexion. There was also a large, jagged, lumpy scar that ran from the front of his upper ear diagonally down towards his chin.

 

      I thought, “How unusual that a man can remind me of a bird of prey, a lizard, and still be cruelly handsome.”

 

      There were other things that bothered me about little Sal. At first glance, he appeared to be, physically, the smallest and least capable of the group. However, on second glance, I noticed whenever he moved, whether in his chair or walking over to the bar, he moved like Mr. Chang’s partner, Mr. Lee. His movements reminded me of a panther in a man’s skin who had spent years fencing and fighting. That would be disturbing enough by itself.

 

      What really gave me the willies was, when he smiled, his eyes did not smile. When I was introduced to him, he had the look of a man carefully imprinting every aspect of my features indelibly on his brain. It made me think of an undertaker eyeing me for the proper-sized casket. He scared the hell out of me! Although, I could tell he was actually trying to be sincerely engaging with me, and that scared the hell out of me even more.

 

      Finally I had to leave and I expressed my gratitude to everyone there. All of them seemed to be sincere when they said they had enjoyed meeting me and wanted me to drop by often to hang out with Apollionia and her family. Even scary Sal seemed sincere in his wishes that, “I don’t become a stranger.” I thought it was silly to be afraid of him, but he still radiated danger from the cellular level up.

 

      I said my goodbyes to the entire family.

 

     On another date, I asked Apollonia what her father did for a living.

      She shrugged, “My dad is in the garbage collecting business.”

      “You mean he drives a garbage trunk?” I asked.

      “No, he owns the company,” she corrected me.

      “Are all of those guys that I met really related to you, or do you just call some of them uncles or cousins because they’re close friends?”

 

      “All of those guys are related to our family either directly or through marriage,” Apollonia said proudly.

 

      “Do they all work for your father,” I pressed.

      Smiling she shrugged, “Uncle Antonio is my dad’s lawyer, and Uncle Sal does a lot of errands for my dad, but I am not sure what those errands are.”

 

      You mean little Sal or Fat Sal runs errands for your dad,” I asked?

      “Little Sal,” she said, “why do you ask?”

      “Just curious,” I blurted out. Still curious, I asked, “What about your other uncles. What do they do?”

 

      Laughing, she said, “They are all into various things…different types of construction, real estate, trucking, and Fat Sal invested in a restaurant with my dad. My family helps each other out…they give each other deals. My dad is big on our family networking. Aside from knowing general things, my dad doesn’t like to discuss business. He feels we shouldn’t worry our heads over it and he doesn’t like to think of business when he’s home.”

      I was very impressed.