Who is Lou Sciortino? by Ottavio Cappellani

close-up of J-Lo’s ass) when this tide of photographers and flashes descends on their table. Instinctively, she loses her temper, but then she sees him, with that mustache, and a sly smile, and she doesn’t get it, J-Lo doesn’t get it. He whispers, ‘You can’t keep love a secret,’ or some such crap, and then Jennifer takes off her shoes, jumps on the table, and says to the photographers, ‘I asked him if he’s taking me to Cairo and he said yes, even though he’s got a lot of things to do here in New York and can’t just let them slide, isn’t he a sweetheart?’”
    â€œShit! Apart from being a whore, she’s a real bitch!” Chaz says.
    â€œShut up, Chaz,” Frank says. “I like this concept, I like it a lot…”

SCALI’S AMARETTI
    S CALI’S AMARETTI : the brass sign stands out against the volcanic stone of the building on Corso Italia, a small twenties building, with a stone base and a full complement of pediments and capitals and masks. Inside, an oak parquet floor, and mahogany counters with the amaretti beautifully displayed in pyramids on large silver platters.
    Behind the counter opposite the entrance, Signorina Niscemi (the forty-seven-year-old sister of Cosimo Niscemi, Uncle Sal’s childhood friend who died of a heart attack a while ago, leaving his sister Vittoria on her own, until she was charitably taken on by Uncle Sal as salesclerk, secretary, manageress, administrator, and figurehead of Scali’s Amaretti) sticks out her chest and fixes herself up because she’s just seen Uncle Sal open the front door, which is made of glass and brass.
    Uncle Sal strides in, making the parquet floor creak.
    â€œAre they here?” he says.
    â€œNo, commendatore, ” Signorina Nescimi says, “but they’re definitely coming.”
    Uncle Sal looks worried. He walks to the counter on the left, then climbs the mahogany staircase that leads to the second floor. At the top, he stops in front of the first door on the left, opens it, and goes in.
    Like a sergeant’s flashlight, the light from the corridor reveals a couple of cans of beer on the floor. Uncle Sal goes quickly to the window and opens it wide. The room stinks of alcohol and smoke, and he can’t help covering his mouth with his handkerchief. The desk is a mess: on the right, six partly eaten amaretti lined up in a row; on the left, a heap of beer cans, more amaretti, and empty gin bottles. Uncle Sal grabs the wastepaper basket and throws in the amaretti, bottles, and cans.
    â€œThe room’s a mess,” he hears someone say behind his back, while he’s still bending over the basket. He stands up and sees Lou Sciortino in the doorway. Minchia, the way he dresses! Uncle Sal thinks, and for a moment he sees his own youth … Abby Lane, Xavier Cugat with that little dog of his, a dog for a faggot, Marino Barreto with his yellow shirt and shiny gray suits, just like the one Lou’s wearing right now.
    â€œIt’s a little … bit of a mess, I’m sorry, Don Scali…” Lou says.
    â€œ Minchia ,” Uncle Sal says, “I’m not surprised you got food poisoning!”
    Lou looks around in silence. He knows Uncle Sal would like him to say, Thank you, Don Scali, for taking me to the hospital, but he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
    â€œYou sure gave us a fright,” Uncle Sal says. “First you go all white, and then you faint in public.”
    Lou takes off his jacket, rolls up the sleeves of his yellow shirt to the elbow, walks to his chair, sits down, and puts his feet up on the desk.
    Uncle Sal looks at the black patent-leather shoes planted there in front of his eyes. Then he pulls up his pants in order not to ruin their immaculate crease, and sits down on one of the two chairs in front of the desk. He crosses his hands on his stomach and rocks a little, then says, “This chair