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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
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
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."