I'd tell them. My voice used to have expression in those days. And they'd smile at me

and say, 'But my husband and I are very strict Catholics,' they'd say."

There was a knock on the door and two waiters wheeled in a cart covered with food

and silver service coffeepots. They took a portable table from the bottom of the cart and

set it up. Then Johnny dismissed them.

They sat at the table and ate the hot sandwiches Lucy had ordered and drank the

coffee. Johnny leaned back and lit up a cigarette. "So you save lives. How come you

became an abortionist?"

Lucy spoke up for the first time. "He wanted to help girls in trouble, girls who might

commit suicide or do something dangerous to get rid of the baby."

Jules smiled at her and sighed. "It's not that simple. I became a surgeon finally. I've

got the good hands, as ballplayers say. But I was so good I scared myself silly. I'd open

up some poor bastard's belly and know he was going to die. I'd operate and know that

the cancer or tumor would come back but I'd send them off home with a smile and a lot

of bullshit. Some poor broad comes in and I slice off one tit. A year later she's back and

I slice off the other tit. A year after that, I scoop out her insides like you scoop the seeds

out of a cantaloupe. After all that she dies anyway. Meanwhile husbands keep calling up

and asking, 'What do the tests show? What do the tests show?'

"So I hired an extra secretary to take all those calls. I saw the patient only when she

was fully prepared for examination, tests or operation. I spent the minimum possible

time with the victim because I was, after all, a busy man. And then finally I'd let the

husband talk to me for two minutes. 'It's terminal,' I'd say. And they could never hear

that last word. They understood what it meant but they never heard it. I thought at first

that unconsciously I was dropping my voice on the last word, so I consciously said it

louder. But still they never heard it. One guy even said, 'What the hell do you mean, it's

germinal?'" Jules started to laugh. "Germinal, terminal, what the hell. I started to do

abortions. Nice and easy, everybody happy, like washing the dishes and leaving a clean

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sink. That was my class. I loved it, I loved being an abortionist. I don't believe that a

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two-month fetus is a human being so no problems there. I was helping young girls and

married women who were in trouble, I was making good money. I was out of the front

lines. When I got caught I felt like a deserter that had been hauled in. But I was lucky, a

friend pulled some strings and got me off but now the big hospitals won't let me operate.

So here I am. Giving good advice again which is being ignored just like in the old days."

"I'm not ignoring it," Johnny Fontane said. "I'm thinking it over."

Lucy finally changed the subject. "What are you doing in Vegas, Johnny? Relaxing

from your duties as big-time Hollywood wheel or working?"

Johnny shook his head. "Mike Corleone wants to see me and have a talk. He's flying

In tonight with Tom Hagen. Tom said they'll be seeing you, Lucy. You know what it's all

about?"

Lucy shook her head. "We're all having dinner together tomorrow night. Freddie too. I

think it might have something to do with the hotel. The casino has been dropping money

lately, which shouldn't be. The Don might want Mike to check it out."

"I hear Mike finally got his face fixed," Johnny said. Lucy laughed. "I guess Kay talked

him into it. He wouldn't do it when they were married. I wonder why? It looked so awful

and made his nose drip. He should have had it done sooner." She paused for a moment.

"Jules was called in by the Corleone Family for that operation. They used him as a

consultant and an observer."

Johnny nodded and said dryly, "I recommended him for it."

"Oh," Lucy said. "Anyway, Mike said he wanted to do something for Jules. That's why

he's having us to dinner tomorrow night."

Jules said musingly, "He didn't trust anybody. He warned me to keep track of what

everybody did. It was fairly straight, ordinary surgery. Any competent man could do it."

There was a sound from the bedroom of the suite and they looked toward the drapes.

Nino had become conscious again. Johnny went and sat on the bed. Jules and Lucy

went over to the foot of the bed. Nino gave them a wan grin. "OK, I'll stop being a wise

guy. I feel really lousy. Johnny, remember about a year ago, what happened when we

were with those two broads down in Palm Springs? I swear to you I wasn't jealous

about what happened. I was glad. You believe me, Johnny?"

Johnny said reassuringly, "Sure, Nino, I believe you."

Lucy and Jules looked at each other. From everything they had heard and knew about

Johnny Fontane it seemed impossible that he would take a girl away from a close friend

like Nino. And why was Nino saying he wasn't jealous a year after it happened? The

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same thought crossed both their minds, that Nino was drinking himself to death

romantically because a girl had left him to go with Johnny Fontane.

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Jules checked Nino again. "I'll get a nurse to be in the room with you tonight," Jules

said. "You really have to stay in bed for a couple of days. No kidding."

Nino smiled. "OK, Doc, just don't make the nurse too pretty."

Jules made a call for the nurse and then he and Lucy left. Johnny sat in a chair near

the bed to wait for the nurse. Nino was falling asleep again, an exhausted look on his

face. Johnny thought about what he had said, about not being jealous about what had

happened over a year ago with those two broads down in Palm Springs. The thought

had never entered his head that Nino might be jealous.

A year ago Johnny Fontane had sat in his plush office, the office of the movie

company he headed, and felt as lousy as he had ever felt in his life. Which was

surprising because the first movie he had produced, with himself as star and Nino in a

featured part, was making tons of money. Everything had worked. Everybody had done

their job. The picture was brought in under budget. Everybody was going to make a

fortune out of it and Jack Woltz was losing ten years of his life. Now Johnny had two

more pictures in production, one starring himself, one starring Nino. Nino was great on

the screen as one of those charming, dopey lover-boys that women loved to shove

between their tits. Little boy lost. Everything he touched made money, it was rolling in.

The Godfather was getting his percentage through the bank, and that made Johnny feel

really good. He had justified his Godfather's faith. But today that wasn't helping much.

And now that he was a successful independent movie producer he had as much

power, maybe more, than he had ever had as a singer. Beautiful broads fell all over him

just like before, though for a more commercial reason. He had his own plane, he lived

more lavishly even, with the special tax benefits a businessman had that artists didn't

get. Then what the hell was bothering him?

He knew what it was. The front of his head hurt, his nasal passages hurt, his throat

itched. The only way he could scratch and relieve that itch was by singing and he was

afraid to even try. He had called Jules Segal about it, when it would be safe to try to

sing and Jules had said anytime he felt like it. So he'd tried and sounded so hoarse and

lousy he'd given up. And his throat would hurt like hell the next day, hurt in a different

way than before the warts had been taken off. Hurt worse, burning. He was afraid to

keep singing, afraid that he'd lose his voice forever, or ruin it.

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And if he couldn't sing, what the hell was the use of everything else? Everything else

was just bullshit. Singing was the only thing he really knew. Maybe he knew more about

singing and his kind of music than anybody else in the world. He was that good, he

realized now. All those years had made him a real pro. Nobody could tell him the right

and the wrong, he didn't have to ask anybody. He knew. What a waste, what a damn

waste.

It was Friday and he decided to spend the weekend with Virginia and the kids. He

called her up as he always did to tell her he was coming. Really to give her a chance to

say no. She never said no. Not in all the years they had been divorced. Because she

would never say no to a meeting of her daughters and their father. What a broad,

Johnny thought. He'd been lucky with Virginia. And though he knew he cared more

about her than any other woman he knew it was impossible for them to live together

sexually. Maybe when they were sixty-five, like when you retire, they'd retire together,

retire from everything.

But reality shattered these thoughts when he arrived there and found Virginia was

feeling a little grouchy herself and the two girls not that crazy to see him because they

had been promised a weekend visit with some girl friends on a California ranch where

they could ride horses.

He told Virginia to send the girls off to the ranch and kissed them good-bye with an

amused smile. He understood them so well. What kid wouldn't rather go riding horses

on a ranch than hang around with a grouchy father who picked his own spots as a

father. He said to Virginia, "I'll have a few drinks and then I'll shove off too."

"All right," she said. She was having one of her bad days, rare, but recognizable. It

wasn't too easy for her leading this kind of life.

She saw him taking an extra large drink. "What are you cheering yourself up for?"