the way out, not nursing his voice at all. His throat was fine, he felt that he could sing
forever. In the months he had not been able to sing he had often thought about singing,
planned out how he would phrase lyrics differently now than as a kid. He had sung the
songs in his head with more sophisticated variations of emphasis. Now he was doing it
for real. Sometimes it would go wrong in the actual singing, stuff that had sounded good
when he heard it just in his head didn't work out when he tried it really singing out loud.
OUT LOUD, he thought. He wasn't listening to himself now, he was concentrating on
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performing. He fumbled a little on timing but that was OK, just rusty. He had a
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metronome in his head that would never fail him. Just a little practice was all he needed.
Finally he stopped singing. Tina came over to him with eyes shining and gave him a
long kiss. "Now I know why Mother goes to all your movies," she said. It was the wrong
thing to say at any time except this. Johnny and Nino laughed.
They played the feedback and now Johnny could really listen to himself. His voice had
changed, changed a hell of a lot but was still unquestionably the voice of Johnny
Fontane. It had become much richer and darker as he had noticed before but there was
also the quality of a man singing rather than a boy. The voice had more true emotion,
more character. And the technical part of his singing was far superior to anything he had
ever done. It was nothing less than masterful. And if he was that good now, rusty as hell,
how good would he be when he got in shape again? Johnny grinned at Nino. "Is that as
good as I think it is?"
Nino looked at his happy face thoughtfully. "It's very damn good," he said. "But let's
see how you sing tomorrow."
Johnny was hurt that Nino should be so downbeat. "You son of a bitch, you know you
can't sing like that. Don't worry about tomorrow. I feel great." But he didn't sing any
more that night. He and Nino took the girls to a party and Tina spent the night in his bed
but he wasn't much good there. The girl was a little disappointed. But what the hell, you
couldn't do everything all in one day, Johnny thought.
He woke up in the morning with a sense of apprehension, with a vague terror that he
had dreamed his voice had come back. Then when he was sure it was not a dream he
got scared that his voice would be shot again. He went to the window and hummed a bit,
then he went down to the living room still in his pajamas. He picked out a tune on the
piano and after a while tried singing with it. He sang mutedly but there was no pain, no
hoarseness in his throat, so he turned it on. The chords were true and rich, he didn't
have to force it at all. Easy, easy, just pouring out. Johnny realized that the bad time
was over, he had it all now. And it didn't matter a damn if he fell on his face with movies,
it didn't matter if he couldn't get it up with Tina the night before, it didn't matter that
Virginia would hate him being able to sing again. For a moment he had just one regret.
If only his voice had come back to him while trying to sing for his daughters, how lovely
that would have been. That would have been so lovely.
The hotel nurse had come into the room wheeling a cart loaded with medication.
Johnny got up and stared down at Nino, who was sleeping or maybe dying. He knew
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Nino wasn't jealous of his getting his voice back. He understood that Nino was only
jealous because he was so
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happy about getting his voice back. That he cared so much about singing. For what was
very obvious now was that Nino Valenti didn't care enough about anything to make him
want to stay alive.
Chapter 27
Michael Corleone arrived late in the evening and, by his own order, was not met at the
airport. Only two men accompanied him: Tom Hagen and a new bodyguard, named
Albert Neri.
The most lavish suite of rooms in the hotel had been set aside for Michael and his
party. Already waiting in that suite were the people it would be necessary for Michael to
see.
Freddie greeted his brother with a warm embrace. Freddie was much stouter, more
benevolent-looking, cheerful, and far more dandified. He wore an exquisitely tailored
gray silk and accessories to match. His hair was razor cut and arranged as carefully as
a movie star's, his face glowed with perfect barbering and his hands were manicured.
He was an altogether different man than the one who had been shipped out of New
York four years before.
He leaned back and surveyed Michael fondly. "You look a hell of a lot better now that
you got your face fixed. Your wife finally talked you into it, huh? How is Kay? When she
gonna come out and visit us out here?"
Michael smiled at his brother. "You're looking pretty good too. Kay would have come
out this time, but she's carrying another kid and she has the baby to look after. Besides
this is business, Freddie, I have to fly back tomorrow night or the morning after."
"You have to eat something first," Freddie said. "We've got a great chef in the hotel,
you'll get the best food you ever ate. Go take your shower and change and everything
will be set up right here. I have all the people you want to see lined up, they'll be waiting
around for when you're ready, I just have to call them."
Michael said pleasantly, "Let's save Moe Greene to the end, OK? Ask Johnny
Fontane and Nino up to eat with us. And Lucy and her doctor friend. We can talk while
we eat." He turned to Hagen. "Anybody you want to add to that, Tom?"
Hagen shook his head. Freddie had greeted him much less affectionately than
Michael, but Hagen understood. Freddie was on his father's shit list and Freddie
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naturally blamed the Consigliori for not straightening things out. Hagen would gladly
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have done so, but he didn't know why Freddie was in his father's bad graces. The Don
did not give voice to specific grievances. He just made his displeasure felt.
It was after midnight before they gathered around the special dinner table set up in
Michael's suite. Lucy kissed Michael and didn't comment on his face looking so much
better after the operation. Jules Segal boldly studied the repaired cheekbone and said
to Michael, "A good job. It's knitted nicely. Is the sinus OK?"
"Fine," Michael said. "Thanks for helping out."
Dinner focused on Michael as they ate. They all noted his resemblance in speech and
manner to the Don. In some curious way he inspired the same respect, the same awe,
and yet he was perfectly natural, at pains to put everyone at their ease. Hagen as usual
remained in the background. The new man they did not know; Albert Neri was also very
quiet and unobtrusive. He had claimed he was not hungry and sat in an armchair close
to the door reading a local newspaper.
After they had had a few drinks and food, the waiters were dismissed. Michael spoke
to Johnny Fontane. "Hear your voice is back as good as ever, you got all your old fans
back. Congratulations."
"Thanks," Johnny said. He was curious about exactly why Michael wanted to see him.
What favor would he be asked?
Michael addressed them all in general. "The Corleone Family is thinking of moving out
here to Vegas. Selling out all our interests in the olive oil business and settling here.
The Don and Hagen and myself have talked it over and we think here is where the
future is for the Family. That doesn't mean right now or next year. It may take two, three,
even four years to get things squared away. But that's the general plan. Some friends of
ours own a good percentage of this hotel and casino so that will be our foundation. Moe
Greene will sell us his interest so it can be wholly owned by friends of the Family."
Freddie's moon face was anxious. "Mike, you sure about Moe Greene selling? He
never mentioned it to me and he loves the business. I really don't think he'll sell."
Michael said quietly, "I'll make him an offer he can't refuse."
The words were said in an ordinary voice, yet the effect was chilling, perhaps because
it was a favorite phrase of the Don's. Michael turned to Johnny Fontane. "The Don is
counting on you to help us get started. It's been explained to us that entertainment will
be the big factor in drawing gamblers. We hope you'll sign a contract to appear five
times a year for maybe a week-long engagement. We hope your friends in movies do
the same. You've done them a lot of favors, now you can call them in."
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"Sure," Johnny said. "I'll do anything for my Godfather, you know that, Mike." But there
was just the faint shadow of doubt in his voice.
Michael smiled and said, "You won't lose money on the deal and neither will your
friends. You get points in the hotel, and if there's somebody else you think important
enough, they get some points too. Maybe you don't believe me, so let me say I'm
speaking the Don's words."
Johnny said hurriedly, "I believe you, Mike. But there's ten more hotels and casinos