The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
156
Nino had to take a big drink when he was alone with Deanna Dunn. He was trying to be 
nonchalant but it was hard. Deanna Dunn had the upturned nose, the clean-cut classical 
features of the Anglo-Saxon beauty. And he knew her so well. He had seen her alone in 
a bedroom, heartbroken, weeping over her dead flier husband who had left her with 
fatherless children. He had seen her angry, hurt, humiliated, yet with a shining dignity 
when a caddish Clark Gable had taken advantage of her, then left her for a sexpot. 
(Deanna Dunn never played sexpots in the movies.) He had seen her flushed with 
requited love, writhing in the embrace of the man she adored and he had seen her die 
beautifully at least a half dozen times. He had seen her and heard her and dreamed 
about her and yet he was not prepared for the first thing she said to him alone. 
“Johnny is one of the few men with balls in this town,” she said. “The rest are all fags 
and sick morons who couldn’t get it up with a broad if you pumped a truckload of 
Spanish fly into their scrotums.” She took Nino by the hand and led him into a corner of 
the room, out of traffic and out of competition. 
Then still coolly charming, she asked him about himself. He saw through her. He saw 
that she was playing the role of the rich society girl who is being kind to the stableboy or 
the chauffeur, but who in the movie would either discourage his amatory interest (if the 
part were played by Spencer Tracy), or throw up everything in her mad desire for him (if 
the part were played by Clark Gable). But it didn’t matter. He found himself telling her 
about how he and Johnny had grown up together in New York, about how he and 
Johnny had sung together on little club dates. He found her marvelously sympathetic 
and interested. Once she asked casually, “Do you know how Johnny made that bastard 
Jack Woltz give him the part?” Nino froze and shook his head. She didn’t pursue it. 
The time had come to see the preview of a new Woltz movie. Deanna Dunn led Nino, 
her warm hand imprisoning his, to an interior room of the mansion that had no windows 
but was furnished with about fifty small two-person couches scattered around in such a 
way as to give each one a little island of semiprivacy. 
Nino saw there was a small table beside the couch and on the table were an ice bowl, 
glasses and bottles of liquor plus a tray of cigarettes. He gave Deanna Dunn a cigarette, 
lit it and then mixed them both drinks. They didn’t speak to each other. After a few 
minutes the lights went out. 
He had been expecting something outrageous. After all, he had heard the legends of 
Hollywood depravity. But he was not quite prepared for Deanna Dunn’s voracious 

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