The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
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even felt that initial move toward lovemaking. Some were distracted by it, not sure it was 
a physical touch because at the same time he always kissed them deeply on the mouth. 
Still others seemed to suck in his finger or gobble it up with a pelvic thrust. And of 
course before he became famous, some girls had slapped his face. It was his whole 
technique and usually it served him well enough. 
Sharon’s reaction was unusual. She accepted it all, the touch, the kiss, then shifted her 
mouth off his, shifted her body ever so slightly back along the couch and picked up her 
drink. It was a cool but definite refusal. It happened sometimes. Rarely; but it happened. 
Johnny picked up his drink and lit a cigarette. 
She was saying something very sweetly, very lightly. “It’s not that I don’t like you, 
Johnny, you’re much nicer than I thought you’d be. And it’s not because I’m not that kind 
of a girl. It’s just that I have to be turned on to do it with a guy, you know what I mean?” 
Johnny Fontane smiled at her. He still liked her. “And I don’t turn you on?” 
She was a little embarrassed. “Well, you know, when you were so great singing and all, 
I was still a little kid. I sort of just missed you, I was the next generation. Honest, it’s not 
that I’m goody-goody. If you were a movie star I grew up on, I’d have my panties off in a 
second.” 
He didn’t like her quite so much now. She was sweet, she was witty, she was intelligent. 
She hadn’t fallen all over herself to screw for him or try to hustle him because his 
connections would help her in show biz. She was really a straight kid. But there was 
something else he recognized. It had happened a few times before. The girl who went 
on a date with her mind all made up not to go to bed with him, no matter how much she 
liked him, just so that she could tell her friends, and even more, herself, that she had 
turned down a chance to screw for the great Johnny Fontane. It was something he 
understood now that he was older and he wasn’t angry. He just didn’t like her quite that 
much and he had really liked her a lot. 
And now that he didn’t like her quite so much, he relaxed more. He sipped his drink and 
watched the Pacific Ocean. She said, “I hope you’re not sore, Johnny. I guess I’m being 
square, I guess in Hollywood a girl’s supposed to put out just as casually as kissing a 
beau good night. I just haven’t been around long enough.” 
Johnny smiled at her and patted her cheek. His hand fell down to pull her skirt discreetly 
over her rounded silken knees. “I’m not sore,” he said. “It’s nice having an old-fashioned 
date.” Not telling what he felt: the relief at not having to prove himself a great lover, not 

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