Writing another book in the Gino Ranno series was like reconnecting with an old friend after years apart. I let the story marinate for a while, and it felt like the right time to return to it.
One of my fans who read the GINO: What Remains manuscript asked if the book was autobiographical. Was I sick? Did I have cancer and was I preparing for the end?
The answer is yes and no.
No, I'm not sick. No, I'm not ready to write my final chapter yet. Yes, I had prostate cancer six years ago, and I was recently hospitalized for checkups. That's where I picked up the Sloan Kettering visuals in the book. The good news is I'm okay—for now, as we can all say.
As for whether Gino is me? There are many similarities. In Fish Farm, my first book and the first in the Gino Ranno series, the Louis-Gino parallels were very close. After that, not at all. Gino became his own person and behaved the way a true mobster would.
Besides, Gino is cool. Dean Martin was cool. Sean Connery was very cool. I don't see myself that way.
First of all, I think a man has to be tall, look good in a tuxedo with a cigarette in hand to be cool. My look is more imposing in an Anthony "Fat Tony" Salerno kind of way—short, cigar, the hat. Salerno wasn't cool, but Gino is.
Gino is also a flirt, and so am I. Flirting is an art form. I know guys who try to flirt and come across as creepy, especially men my age attempting to start conversations with younger women. There's an awkwardness in their delivery that signals their intention. Gino pulls it off marvelously. It's a God-given talent.
God made sure I couldn't use tools, but He gave me the gift of flirtation.
For example: I met a pretty woman in her forties online—well, actually in a fish store the other day. She was raving about the salmon salad, saying it was the best she'd ever had. My simple opening: "Is it really that good?"
She was off to the races. Twenty-seven years here, loves fish, no ring, great teeth and eyes. I was captivated by her beauty. Alas, my grandchildren were with me, so it was a wasted flirt.
But on her way out, she made a point to come back, tap me on the shoulder, and say it was nice to meet me.
Maybe I am cool after all.
