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THE FAIRY GODFATHER By David Gardiner This story may be reproduced in whole or in part for any non-commercial purpose provided that authorship is acknowledged and credited. The copyright remains the property of the author
Don Vito Corleone relaxed in his favourite leather chair in his office at the Long Island
mansion, watching the brightly-coloured tropical fish in the huge tank that Ricardo Frazzi
had given him in recognition of the service that he had done in removing his problems
with the Immigration Department. Beside him on the huge oak desk was a tray bearing an
opened bottle of Corvo red wine from his good friend Don Tomasso in Sicily, and a
chunk of his special Italian bread, spread with a thin coating of the olive oil imported by
the Corleone family here in New York. It was good to grow old surrounded by so many
loving and trusted friends, the Don thought tenderly, even though the weight of family
responsibilities pressed heavily upon him.
He must come up with something for his godson Johnny the singer, who had been refused
a booking in Nashville, and then there was his other godchild Antonio in New Jersey,
falsely accused of murdering a prostitute... well, the Police Chief would see that it was all
a mistake when Tom Hagen had a talk with him....
His train of thought was interrupted by a gentle tapping on the office door. That would be
Connie, he knew. She was the only one who knocked as timidly as that: what a blessing
to have such a good and respectful daughter.
"Come in, my dear, I am on my own," he said gently.
"Father, I don't like to bother you, but I have a school friend visiting, and I would like
you to talk to her."
He nodded, but did not say anything. The Don had learned that it was about one thousand
times more important, and more difficult, to listen properly than to talk.
"She's not getting along well with her stepmother and her two stepsisters," Connie went
on in a low respectful voice, "they use her like a domestic servant, and they won't let her
go out and enjoy herself. She's very unhappy at home. The stepmother is jealous of her
good looks: her own daughters are ugly, and very bad-natured. Do you think there is
anything our family could do for her?"
The Don raised his right hand, opened it in a gesture of benign puzzlement. He paused a
little longer in case there was more that Connie wanted to say. When he was quite certain
that she had finished he asked a few questions of his own.
"Is this an Italian family?" he asked quietly.
"No, I don't think so. But the girl and her father are very nice people."
"So she is his only blood relative?"
"Yes. She is very close to her father, but he doesn't understand what's going on. I think he
married the stepmother for her money when they lost their real mother. The family went
through a bad spell... they were very poor."
The Don nodded. "I understand poverty," he agreed. "A man who will marry a woman he
doesn't love to save his family is a good man. It's a pity he didn't come to see me first,
though. I might have been able to counsel him, before he made a bad decision."
“That's true of course, but as you said, he wasn't an Italian. He didn't know about you
back then."
"And in your judgement, these are good people? People who deserve a service from our
family?"
"Yes, father."
"Very well, Connie. Send her in. What should I call her, by the way?”
"They call her Cinders at home. Because she's always down in the kitchen cleaning the
stove. Her real name is Cindy, you know, like in the song."
The Don nodded.
Connie made her departure quietly and her young friend came in. She was very beautiful,
but dressed in an old and ugly grey dress with a number of poorly executed repairs.
"Hello, Cindy," said the Don, motioning her towards a chair. "welcome to our home. Is
there some way that our family can help you?"
"Well, gee, I don't know, Mister Corleone, but it would be great if you could." She waited
for the Don to say something, but he merely nodded. "You see there's this ball... you
know, the Graduation Ball at Connie's High School? And there's this boy that I would
really like to go to it with,” she giggled with embarrassment, "he's real cute. His name's
Michael Prince, but we all call him 'The Prince'. His family is loaded, and he lives the
other side of the bridge, in a big house like this one. He's really something, you know?
And the thing is, he's asked me, but I don't know what to say, because... well, I don't have
anything to wear, for one thing, and really you have to come in a limmo... and my
stepmother, she doesn't want me to go because of her own two not getting asked… God,
this must sound awful to you. It's all so trivial to a man like you, isn't it?"
The Don thought for a moment and shook his head. "You are my daughter's friend.
Anything that spoils the happiness of my daughter's friend is not trivial to me."
"You... you think you might be able to help me, then, Mister Corleone...?"
He rocked back and forth a few times in his chair before he answered. "So, you're asking
me for something appropriate in terms of a ball gown, the use of a decent vehicle and a
driver on the night in question, and you would like me to smooth it a bit with your two
sisters and your stepmother. Is that right?"
"Yes, Sir. That's it exactly. Do you think you could do it?"
The Don smiled. He didn't have to have anybody killed. There were no bribes to pay. The
financial outlay would be peanuts. He didn't even have to call in any favours.
"Cindy, my family will be happy to help you with these requirements. But there is a
condition. Some day, and that day may never come, I will ask you to perform a service in
return. Do you accept that condition?"
She looked puzzled. “Sure," she replied with an open handed gesture, wondering what
possible favour he might have in mind. She glanced up at his kindly, ageing face. No, it
couldn't be that. He wasn't the type.
"Good. Now I'm going to have Tom Hagen talk to you. He is my trusted consigliori. He
will discuss with you the details of whatever needs to be done." The Don held out his
hand to be kissed, but the girl, not being Italian, merely shook it and smiled radiantly.
"You're a real pal. Mister Corleone. I'm not going to forget this."
"No, my dear. I don't suppose you are.”
Tom Hagen went around first to reason with Cindy's stepmother. One of the two
stepsisters answered the door. "Good morning, Miss," he said, touching his hat
respectfully, hoping that he hadn't made his shock at her appearance too obvious, "my
name is Tom Hagen. I'm a lawyer and my client has asked me to come over here to talk
to you and your mother about a matter of mutual concern.”
"My mother's never broken the law in her life. Now you get the hell out of here and leave
us law-abiding folk to get on with our lives!"
“I don't think you understand, Miss. I am authorised to make your family an offer in
respect of a small favour. In my view this offer is so good you won't be able to refuse."
She narrowed her eyes so that her face became even more repulsive. "What favour?" she
asked from between clenched teeth.
“It concerns your younger stepsister, Cindy. She would like to go the Graduation Ball at
her High School this Saturday...."
“Mister," she interrupted, "you get the hell out of here, and if I ever see you around
here gain I'm gonna set the German Shepherd dog on you and you ain't going to be going
nowhere no more.”
He touched his hat once again in a gesture of farewell. "I'm sorry we weren't able to come
to an agreement, Miss. I will communicate this to my client. Allow me to leave you my
visiting card in case you should change your mind. Good day."
Out of curiosity she accepted the card and looked at the name. "I know every big lawyer
in New York city,” she spat out the words contemptuously, "who the hell are you?"
As the first light of morning filtered in through the pink curtains in Cindy's stepmother's
bedroom, matching the tint of the old lady's much pampered silver grey hair, she realised
that the face opposite her in the bed did not belong to her husband. This would not have
been especially unusual, except that it was not in fact a human face. It was the face of a
very large and normally quite ferocious German Shepherd dog that her daughters kept
chained up in a shed in the back yard. But just now it seemed exceptionally lifeless. This
she was quickly able to account for, with the discovery that it did not have a body
attached.
Tom Hagen relaxed in the deep leather easy-chair opposite the Don's enormous desk. He
had a bunch of papers in his hand detailing matters that Don Corleone needed to deal
with before Donna Corleone called them both to the kitchen for lunch.
The Don had a frivolous question that he wanted to ask before they got down to serious
business. "Did you have a talk with that cute kid's stepmother... Cindy, whatever you call
her....?"
"Yes, Godfather," he smiled, "I spoke to one of her stepsisters at the front door yesterday.
I explained that you needed to ask a small favour. I tried to reason with her, but she
refused my offer, and was impolite, so I had to ask Clamenza to demonstrate to her and
her mother that it was a serious matter. The mother telephoned me this morning, and she
has now become completely co-operative."
Don Corleone smiled. "I'm very glad to hear that, Tom. It's good when our family can
bring a little happiness into the life of a friend. I hope it wasn't too much trouble. I know
you have a lot on your mind, what with this Sollozzo affair...."
"No trouble at all, Godfather. An honour to help one of Connie's friends."
"Good." The Don nodded thoughtfully. "Honour, Tom. An old-fashioned value. That's
what's missing in the lives of so many young people today."
"Yes, Godfather. I have nothing but pity and contempt for people who have no honour."
So Cindy went to the Ball after all, and despite a small misunderstanding concerning an
item of see-through footwear, she married The Prince and received a more-than-generous
wedding present from Connie's family. whom she had begun to think of as her honorary
godparents....
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