The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
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reading and teaching, refusing dates, refusing to go out at all, even though she had 
given up making calls to Long Beach. She knew she couldn’t keep that up, she was 
becoming irritable and unhappy. But she had always believed Michael would write her or 
send her a message of some sort. That he had not done so humiliated her, it saddened 
her that he was so distrustful even of her. 
She took an early train and was checked into her hotel by midafternoon. Her girl friends 
worked and she didn’t want to bother them at their jobs, she planned to call them at 
night. And she didn’t really feel like going shopping after the exhausting train trip. Being 
alone in the hotel room, remembering all the times she and Michael had used hotel 
rooms to make love, gave her a feeling of desolation. It was that more than anything 
else that gave her the idea of calling Michael’s mother out in Long Beach. 
The phone was answered by a rough masculine voice with a typical, to her, New York 
accent. Kay asked to speak to Mrs. Corelone. There was a few minutes’ silence and 
then Kay heard the heavily accented voice asking who it was. 
Kay was a little embarrassed now. “This is Kay Adams, Mrs. Corleone,” she said. “Do 
you remember me?” 
“Sure, sure, I remember you,” Mrs. Corleone said. “How come you no call up no more? 
You get a married?” 
“Oh, no,” Kay said. “I’ve been busy.” She was surprised at the mother obviously being 
annoyed that she had stopped calling. “Have you heard anything from Michael? Is he all 
right” 
There was silence at the other end of the phone and then Mrs. Corleorie’s voice came 
strong. “Mikey is a home. He no call you up? He no see you?” 
Kay felt her stomach go weak from shock and a humiliating desire to weep. Her voice 
broke a little when she asked, “How long has he been home?” 
Mrs. Corleone said, “Six months.” 
“Oh, I see,” Kay said. And she did. She felt hot waves of shame that Michael’s mother 
knew he was treating her so cheaply. And then she was angry. Angry at Michael, at his 
mother, angry at all foreigners, Italians who didn’t have the common courtesy to keep up 
a decent show of friendship even if a love affair was over. Didn’t Michael know she 
would be concerned for him as a friend even if he no longer wanted her for a bed 
companion, even if he no longer wanted to marry her? Did he think she was one of 

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