Sam

Sam Gionanni was a made man.  After a thirty year tenure as a lieutenant with the Gambini Family, Sam had become one of the top men in the most notorious organized crime syndicate in the country.  The long arms of the Gambini Family reached around the world with aspirations of the future of launching into the space program. 

Sam had one big problem and by all accounts it would be his Achilles Heel.  Devilishly handsome and suave, Sam had a way with women, but his indiscretion was always lacking.  His reputation was quite scandalous and he had no intention to stop.  To him this whole thing was nothing more than a game of chess when it came right down to it. 

Andress Alfonse caught his eye during one of the family shindigs at the Gambini home in Avalon near the beach.  Everyone was dressed in their bathing suits and beach attire.  

Seeing Andress lying in a lounge smearing sun tan lotion on her olive colored skin was too much for Sam to resist.  After his first gander at this classic  Roman beauty, he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.  No one informed Sam that Andress was Antonio’s girlfriend and since he was the oldest son to Enrico Gambini, the patriarch to the entire Gambini Empire.  As he put his moves on Andress, some of Enrico’s bodyguards moved closer to Sam. As soon as she excused herself to freshen up, the bodyguards, six in number, grabbed Sam and marched him to a secluded wooded area near the estate.

“What’s the idea?” Sam tried to wrench his arms free of their vice grips.

“You messed with the wrong broad.” Jimmy Snakes spoke out of the side of his mouth where he kept his toothpick moored. 

“She was being friendly.” Sam protested.

“Yeah, friendly.” Bubby Sanchetti tightened his grip around Sam’s arm.

“There must be some kind of misunderstanding.” Sam tried to shrug, “We are all family here, ain’t we?” 

“Until you start chatting up Antonio’s girl.” Jimmy put his snub-nosed revolver into Sam’s ribs. 

“Hey, hey, let’s talk this out.” Sam pleaded. 

No one at the gathering heard the shots.  Sam was already dead before his body hit the ground.  

“Sam Gionanni.” A man with a clipboard called.  Sam was sitting in a room full of people.  He did not have a clue how he arrived here, but he stood up as soon as his name was called.  When he sauntered up to the strange looking man, “Are you Sam Gionanni?” 

“In the flesh.” Sam sniffed.

“Come with me.” He nodded.

“What for?” Sam was always suspicious of strangers who asked him to follow them. 

“We have some things to discuss.” The man sounded a bit agitated at Sam’s question.

“Like what kind of things?” Sam sucked on his teeth, a habit he acquired when he felt threatened or boxed into something that made him feel edgy. 

“Things, Mr. Gionanni, things.” His voice raised a bit as he could no longer conceal his agitation. 

“No need getting all worked up.” Sam shook his head.

“Wakefield!” Someone called out.

“Coming, Mr. Whammi.” The clipboard holding man rolled his eyes. 

“What seems to be the hold up?” A man appeared wearing a long silver robe tied with a single piece of material at the waist.  There was a silver beard hanging from his chin and he seemed a lot more cordial than the clipboard holding man. “Wakefield, you must learn patience.” 

“Yes sir.” He said through his clenched teeth.

“Mr. Sam Gionanni is here because he is being reassigned.” The robed man smiled and stroked his long beard with one hand. 

“Reassigned?” Sam interjected.

“Yes. Come with me and we shall discuss the details.” Mr. Whammi put his arm around Sam’s shoulders.  Normally he would shrug off anyone who dared to try such a gesture, but there was a certain irresistible warmth in his greeting that put Sam more at ease. “It seems that you need to be reassigned since your records arrived at my office.” 

“Reassigned?” Sam still could not get over that word.

“Certainly.” Mr. Whammi smiled, “When the good balances with the evil, we often have to declare a reassignment or a do-over as you might call it.” 

“A do-over?” Sam did not like the sounds of this.

“You see we take all the good you have done in your life and balance it on our scale against all the bad things you have done to see where you end up.” He coughed, “There is an elevator that goes up and one that goes down, but when we cannot determine which elevator you must get on, we must declare a reassignment.”

“You mean, I have to do this all over again?” His eyes went wide.

“Just a matter of time.  We do have plenty of opportunities for you.  Your reassignment will be done as soon as we can find a suitable substitute.” 

Sam’s head was spinning.

“Once we go, you will be sent into the substitute and from there the determination will be made on which elevator you will be on upon your return.” Mr. Whammi explained as if he was reviewing the rules of a game. 

“When can I expect this to happen?” Sam asked.

“Anytime.” Mr. Whammi answered as he started to walk away.

“It’s just I’d like to know what to expect.” He sighed.

“Just like the life you came from, you never know what to expect.” He paused, “Did you expect what happened at the end?”

“No, I didn’t.” He shook his head.

“Why should this be any different then?” 

Sam hated surprises or unexpected events he had no control over like his mother’s cancer that left him a ward of the state since his two-timing father didn’t stick around very long.  Later he was sent to parochial school where he learned to run around with other kids just like him.  Petty theft soon became grand larceny and hard time in the state penitentiary. 

Throughout his life there was always good and evil.  Nothing good ever happened unless there was something bad ready to rush in right behind it. For as long as he could remember, Sam Gionanni had been caught in the middle of a tug of war between these two diametric forces.

“I’ve been here for a really long time.” One of the ancient looking men with a long white beard told Sam when he sat himself down in the waiting room where he started.

“So who are you?” Sam asked as he picked up a magazine dated from 1912. 

“I am Machiavelli, teacher of the Medici's.” He answered, “I was a good teacher.  A very good teacher.” 

As he sat there, Sam began to wonder what would happen if he pressed the down elevator button.  Anything had to be better than sitting, waiting in this stale room.  

It happened with a “whoosh.”   One minute he was sitting there listening to Karl Marx prattle on about the plight of the working masses and the next he was wrapped in a towel stepping out of a steamy shower.  There was a wall mirror in which to view every detail of the spacious bathroom.

Someone wrapped on the door of the bathroom, “Sam, are you done with your shower?”

“Almost.” He answered in a voice that was not his. 

“Remember you have a press conference in ten minutes, dear.” The voice beyond the door replied.

Press conference?

As he began to remove the towel, he saw parts that were not his own.

What perverted joke was being played on him?  

Glancing down at his exposed legs, he noted there was not a single hair where his legs were once covered in black hair.  

Another knock.  

“Sweetheart, you have to hustle.”  Different voice said, “They are just dying to see you.” 

“Be there in a minute. I just got out of the shower.” His rough voice with a New Jersey accent was gone and in its place was a much softer and articulate replacement.  

Reassignment?  Was this what he was told would happen.

His clothes were also laid out on the counter, but they were not what he was accustomed to putting on.  Panties and a bra?  Was someone playing a joke on him?  His heart was racing.

Removing the towel, he gasped at what was revealed.

A knock on the door, this time more urgent.

“Miss Lockhart, there are paparazzi's swarming the place.” It was the first voice she had heard.

Looking at herself in the mirror, now naked, there was no doubt about the reassignment, but plenty of questions about if they had bungled this whole thing.

“I am a woman.” Sam looked at his reflection disparagingly. 

Quickly he put on the bra and panties so he would not be naked in front of the mirror any longer. Hanging from a hook on the back of the door was a white dress with an array of roses.  Pulling it off the hanger, she put the dress on and looked at herself in the mirror.  Very pretty.

“Are you ready dear?” A young man was standing waiting at the door when she opened it.

“Yes.” She answered with a smile,

“Great. We have just four minutes.” A fastidious man glanced at his watch.

“Mr. Patterson, we will be there on time.” The young man gently took her arm. “Daddy has set up the press conference where you can announce your big news.” 

“Terrific.” Sam nodded wondering what news everyone was waiting on. 

“It will be the story of the year.” Mr. Patterson put his hands together and rolled his eyes in delight. “It will surely be a highlight.” 

“Are you ready, Sam?” The young man asked as he led her toward the door of the hotel suite. 

This suite was nearly the size of Enrico’s living room at his mansion in New Jersey.  It smelled of lavender and spice.  The windows were full length with lacy curtains bordering them.  The bed was unmade, but the linens and blankets were the finest he had ever seen.  In all the years he had worked for the boss, Sam had never experienced luxury like this.

Sam began to wonder if they had put him on the up elevator, but then he could not explain the woman part.  

“Come along dear, we mustn’t be late.” The young man led her through the door into the hallway.  From what she could see, her room was the only room on the entire floor.  She had been staying in the penthouse suite.  Not even Enrico had done that as long as Sam had worked for him.  This was luxury beyond anything he had experienced.  

On the ride down to the lobby, the young man talked sweetly to her about spending the summer in Acapulco and Barcelona with private jets, private rooms and massages.  

When the door opened to the lobby, a mob of people with cameras began shouting questions at her.

“Miss Lockhart, what do you expect from your next movie?” 

“Do you feel the director Kenton Wordshaw has a good take on the overall project?” 

“How do you think you will match up with Newton Symington, your co-star?” 

“Do you feel a romantic comedy is your forte?” 

“There are a lot of people who feel you have sold out.  You claim to be a champion of the feminist's movement and yet continue to star in strong masculine pictures where you portray a weak female character.” 

Sam looked directly at the woman who had just called her a “sell-out.” 

“Dear, pay no attention to her.” The young man pulled her forcibly along, “She is nothing but a rabble-rouser.” 

“What did she mean?” Sam asked.

“Never mind.” He smiled at her.

“Julian, we must get her out of this mob.” Mr. Patterson pointed to the limousine parked at the curb.

“Yes.” The young man affirmed. Using some of the bodyguards, they began making their way toward the limo.  Sam was confused, but he had no choice, just like when Enrico’s bodyguards pulled him forcibly into the woods before plugging him with several bullets. 

Once inside the limo, Sam began to feel more at ease.  He was a movie star woman, Julian was her supposed boyfriend, Mr. Patterson was their efficient manager, and she was surrounded by luxury she could not imagine in her previous life. 

Julian’s hand slid from her knee to under her skirt.  

She slapped his hand away.  It was a reflex.

He rubbed his stricken hand with a look of startled bewilderment.

Even Mr. Patterson was a bit surprised by Sam’s reaction. 

“Sweetheart, what was that for?” Julian finally asked.

“I did not expect you to do that.” Sam answered.

“But you know me, I am a very amorous man.” Julian attempted a smile, but failed miserably.

“Here we are.” Mr. Patterson announced as they pulled up in front of the Helen Hayes Auditorium.

“We must talk later.” Julian left the limo in a huff as a crowd was waiting for them on the sidewalk. 

Sam got out of the limo and saw Julian, sulking as he walked inside the front door.  

More questions were shouted out, but Sam was steamed at Julian and his entitlement over her body.  

More comments about being a feminist and how she continued to play the type of woman who needed a man to save her.

“Whoever this Sam Lockhart is, she doesn't know what she’s doing.” Sam thought as he walked into the front door as Mr. Patterson held it for her.

He began to reflect on his previous life as a man when he too was no better than Julian and assumed that he had earned the privilege of certain liberties.  It was all part of the game and when it came to playing the game, Sam had been a master.  It was easy to make the correlation to playing a game of chess where the winner would assume mastery over his opponent, but in this reversal suddenly he began to see things from a much different perspective.

Mr. Whammi wanted him to learn this lesson from an actual real life perspective. As easy as it would have been to tell someone not to play by the rules of mastery, the true object lesson would come through an actual real life experience.  All his life he treated women as if they were nothing more than opponents in a game they could never win, but in the game he had become an unwitting part of, he was learning how the rules can change through his own experience.  

Kenton was sitting at the table with the other members of the cast of A Woman of Fortune.  With a big smile dividing his shaggy beard, he patted the vacant chair next to him.  Without batting an eye, she complied.  

“Hey there, doll.” He kissed her on the cheek.  She pulled away.

“Oh is it that time of month?” He laughed.

Sam leaned on his elbow until his lips were near the microphone, “I wish to announce that I am hereby quitting this film due to the unflattering overtone to women portrayed in this piece of garbage.”

A moment of silence was immediately followed by a gasp as she rose to her feet.

“You will never work in this town again.” Kenton waved a threatening finger at her.

“Stop me.” She said. 

The blinding flash from all the cameras in the room went off at once causing a cataclysmic moment of blinding light.

When it was over, Sam Lockhart was nowhere to be seen. Julian rubbed his eyes, but even that would not bring her back.  She had simply walked off stage.  

At that moment, Sam Gionanni was standing at the elevator door with the arrow pointing upwards.

“Welcome back.” The man with the clipboard nodded as the door opened, “Going up.”  

Sam stepped inside as the door closed.