More rummaging.
More noise.
A little more rummaging.
“Ah-hah! Eureka. Got 'em, guys,” I hiccupped. “One deck of official get naked poker cards coming right up.” I hoisted them over my head, victorious.
I turned on my heel, quite ungracefully, and headed for the living room.
And I’d have made it, too, if I hadn’t tripped over my own two drunken feet and fallen flat on my face.
“Ow.”
Catherine rushed over and knelt next to me while Bill tried to hold back his laughter.
“Jesus, Rick. Are you okay?”
Grumble.
“Say again?”
“M’fine.”
Catherine helped me onto my side, and whispered in my ear. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to do this, Ricky. I’ll be fine either way.”
My eyelids fluttered. I leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. Sweet, full, moist lips.
“It’s cool,” I whispered. “Harmless fun. I’m fine. Honest. Just a little bump.”
“As long as you’re sure, tough guy.” She helped me up. “We’ve got a guest to entertain, ya big lush.”
Baby steps out of the kitchen.
Baby steps into the living room.
Baby steps to the love seat.
Catherine sat me in the love seat. Bill quietly observed the whole episode with twisted fascination.
“Good thing you have that hard head, Rick. I don’t think we’re in any condition to bring you to the emergency room.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” I dumped the cards on the glass tabletop. “What game are we playing again?”
CHAPTER 3
A raging hangover and the musky smell of sex awaited me the following morning.
“What the hell?” I sat up. The sudden change in elevation sent waves of pain through my head. “Ow.”
I squinted my eyes in defense against the sunlight trickling in through the blinds and surveyed the room.
Catherine was curled up in a compact, sexy ball next to me, completely naked. Her hair was a mess of tangled gold.
On the nightstand, next to an empty box of Kleenex, sat a box of Trojans, torn open as if by a wild boar in the night. Condom wrappers, lots of condom wrappers, littered the floor like XXX confetti after an AVN ticker tape parade. They were on the floor, the foot of the bed, the nightstand. One even found its way into the blinds, wedged between a pair of slats.
Catherine continued to snore as I made my way out of the bed.
I padded my way into the kitchen and fired up a pot of coffee. With the machine bubbling away, I walked out into the living room, determined to plop on the couch, when I noticed my boxers draped over the edge of the coffee table. On top of them was a note.
“Hey guys. Thanks for the poker game and the free booze. It was ... something else. Sorry I couldn’t stay. I thought it would be best if I wasn’t there when you woke up. Don’t worry, I didn’t drive home drunk. Stay good. XOXO, Bill. P.S.—The XOXO wasn’t for you, Rick. You homo. P.S.S.—Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
I sunk into the couch and pinched the bridge of my nose.
Drinking. Bill visiting. Strip poker. Then …
“Oh, my head. Do I smell coffee?” Catherine walked over, hand on her head. “What time is it?” She pointed at the note and sat down next to me. “Whatcha reading?”
“Yes, you smell coffee. It’s about seven-thirty, and this,” I handed her the note, “is from Bill.”
“Bill?”
I nodded. “Bill.”
Catherine rubbed at her eyes, blinked, then read to herself.
I watched as recollection pierced the veil of her hangover. Other than a chirping bird and bubbling coffee maker, the room was silent.
She set the note down.
“Shit.” She chewed her bottom lip. Enter buyer’s remorse. “I’m sorry, Ricky.”
“Sorry? For what?”
“For forcing you into an all-night three-way with your best friend. I feel like such a slut.”
“Hey, come here.” I pulled her head to my shoulder. “We were drunk, but we weren’t that drunk. Okay, maybe I was that drunk, but I knew what was going on. Nobody forced anybody to do anything.”
“But it was all my idea.”
“Doesn’t matter. We all agreed to it, and that’s that.”
After a period of silence, she nodded. “So we’re okay?”
“Okay? Of course. Absolutely. Better than okay. We’re going to be A-okay. Totally okay. Off the charts okay.”
Things were sure to be weird for a while, but I liked her too much to let something as insignificant as having shared her with my best friend for what amounted to an entire night’s rendition of Caligula be our ruination.
Catherine let out a breath. “Good. I’m glad.”
“Um, what happened last night isn’t something you’d like to, you know, repeat, is it?”
“No. Once was enough.”
“Me either. I don’t think I have it in me to live the swinger lifestyle. The drinking to get over the shyness would kill me. And I’d have to buy a bunch of robes. Swingers always have a ton of robes. There’s no way I could afford it.”
She swatted me on the shoulder. “You’re nuts, you know that?”
“I’m nuts about you is what I am.” She cuddled even closer. “And …” The sentence hung in the air, unfinished. My fragile male ego had made its presence known and I was suddenly overcome with a feeling of doubt.
“And what?”
“Nothing. It’s silly.”
She sat up and eyed me curiously. “I can tell it’s not ‘nothing’. Come on. Tell me.”
I took a deep breath. “Well, I just had doubts in the back of my mind that, you know …” I trailed off for a moment. “You know. Maybe you liked Bill more than me. That maybe you liked being with him more.”
She took my face in her hands, looking me straight in the eyes. “Rick, listen to me. No. No way. I like Bill. As a friend. Last night was a whim, a fantasy realized by way too much alcohol. I don’t know what came over me. Booze? The opportunity to experiment some? I won’t lie. It was hot, but I care about you, not Bill. Not in that way. I have no desire to be with him like that ever again. When you and I are together, it’s fantastic. I never had the spark with him that I have with you.”
“So we’re good then?”
She smiled at me, her expression softening, then attempted the worst impression of all time. “Good? Of course. Absolutely. Better than good. We’re going to be A-okay good. Totally good. Off the charts good.”
“Is that supposed to be me?” I laughed. “I think I’ll need some coffee to cleanse my palette of that awful performance. Want some?”
“Yes, jerk. I’d love some.”
Okay. A-okay. Totally okay. Off the charts okay.
I liked the sound of that.
CHAPTER 4
Bill’s late.
He was at the wake last night—big and handsome as ever—but as of this morning, with less than an hour to go before everyone heads out to the cemetery, he’s nowhere to be seen.
As my best and oldest friend, the duty falls to him to eulogize me. Or should I say honor? Just kidding. I don’t think that highly of myself.
From my perch near the ceiling, I see my mother. She’s seated next to Catherine. My daughter, Celeste, is absent at the moment. She’s most likely outside with her twin cousins, Catherine’s sister’s kids. I’d go out and see her if I could.
Death is nothing like I’d imagined. While I’d always expected a big, black nothing, I’d entertained notions of unearthly white lights, harps, comforting music, St. Peter, and an all-powerful creator sitting on a majestic throne ushering me in to join the flock. Instead, I’m stuck in the here and now.
To go one step further, I can’t travel very far from my body. I feel … tethered to it. Try to wander too far and my whole existence becomes a thick, fuzzy static before I’m pulled back to m
y empty shell.
This phenomenon started before the funeral parlor. Shortly after being pulled away from my dead body, I found myself hovering over it in the morgue. But I wasn’t alone. Catherine was there, identifying my remains. Talk about unpleasant. There was nothing I wanted more than the ability to manifest myself and absorb her suffering for her. I would have done it in a heartbeat, but it wasn’t to be. I’ve never felt so helpless. With the completion of that heart-wrenching scene, I was tugged along to the mortician’s magic workshop.
For some reason I’m following my lifeless body like a lost puppy dog that has suddenly grown attached to an attentive stranger. Maybe it’s got something to do with being laid to rest. I’m not here to haunt anybody. If I were, it would be that beer truck driver.
It’s frustrating, not being able to go to the window and observe my daughter. I’m frozen in an undetermined radius, an ethereal planet caught in the gravitational pull of a body whose life vacated it a week ago.
Shit. I hope this condition doesn’t persist after I’m buried. I don’t want to be a ghoul haunting the damn cemetery.
But I shouldn’t think of those things now. It’s likely to drive me insane.
Instead, I think I’ll go see my mother.
As I float toward her, I hear the familiar sentiments being thrown around between people sitting in the parlor gallery, the audience of my family’s theater of mourning.
“... those flowers from his office are so lovely …”
“… too young … he was much too young …”
“… what a crappy way to go … getting hit by a beer truck of all things ...”
“... honey, don’t pick your nose. Use a tissue …”
“... who’s going to pick up the slack at work now that Rick’s gone?”
“… did you see Sandy at the wake? So hot.”
“… see how tense Bill was last night?”
“… the little one doesn’t know what to make of all of this …”
“… wonder how much that coffin cost. Did you see that thing? It’s nicer than some of the cars I’ve had …”
Hey! Why shouldn’t I rate a good coffin? I’d heard the funeral director tell my wife that it was their ‘Cadillac’ of caskets.
“So many flowers,” Mom says. “I haven’t seen this many since my husband’s funeral.”
“They’re so pretty. But I’m sure Ricky would say they’re a waste of money.”
My wife knows me well.
“I can’t imagine how hard this is for you, Beth.” Catherine takes the offered tissue from my mother, dabs away some tears. “First your husband all those years ago and now your … I just can’t imagine what it’s like to lose your only child.”
“No parent should ever have to outlive their children. But this isn’t just hard on me.” She places a veiny hand on Catherine’s. “Celeste is still so young. It’s a waste. A stupid, horrible waste.”
My mother is so careworn. I’ve never seen her look this old. Well over sixty, she’s no spring chicken, but try telling her that.
Beth Franchitti has always been a larger than life character to me. My dad died when I was ten and she picked up the mantle of mother and father without missing a beat. We played catch together, raced Matchbox cars, we even tried our hand at fishing although we sucked at it. Never once did my mother complain or feel sorry for herself. She mourned my father’s passing, but with a tireless energy and fury of spirit. She held her head up high and fought to live life.
Even nearing her twilight years, she dances, cooks, travels. Thinking about half the things she’s been doing makes me tired. And I’m dead. That should tell you something.
But now? Her age clings to her like a second skin.
“Speaking of. Where is the little one?”
“She’s outside playing with Sam and Jeff. Jude is out there with them. She’s at that age where she understands death to a certain degree, but all this,” Catherine makes a sweeping gesture, “is a bit too much for her.”
Sam and Jeff, or should I say, Samantha and Jeffrey, are my sister in law’s pre-teen twins. My wife is right. Celeste should be outside in the sun playing, not in here amongst all the sorrow. There will be plenty of time for that later. Let her enjoy her cousins.
My spritely little daughter is the light of my life. It sounds like a cliché, but it’s the truth. For me the sun rises and sets by Celeste. She’s at that age where she’s old enough to be her own little person, but not too cool to still be into Mommy and Daddy.
I may be proud poppa now, but there was a time when the prospect of kids scared the living shit out of me.
CHAPTER 5
“Richard, when are you going to introduce me to this little friend of yours? It’s been what, six months now?”
Ugh. Little friend. My mother always called any potential love interests in my life my ‘little friends.’ It started with Tammy Green in the fourth grade and it never stopped.
“I don’t know, Mom,” I said into the cordless phone as I paced my tiny apartment. “Maybe the Fourth of July? We were thinking of having a little something. Burgers, dogs, a drink or two. How about you join us?”
The silence on the line told me she was thinking it over. I imagined her playing with her curly, silvering hair in deep consideration.
“Yes, I think that would work. That sounds like fun, actually.” She sounded excited. “I think it’s about high time I meet the girl you’ve been sleeping with, don’t you?”
“Mom.”
“Oh come off it, Richard.” My mother always called me Richard. She was one of the few who did, ever, even though she knew I preferred Rick or Ricky. “Don’t play games with me, and quit being such a prude. You know as well as I do your generation is always in a rush to do the bone dance.”
“Mom!”
It was conversations such as this that had me dreading the prospect of introducing the two women in my life. To make matters worse, only four weeks had passed since our amateur porn hour. Not only did I feel dirty, but I feared Mom would discover our secret like a drug sniffing dog. I love my mom dearly, but she could be as blunt as a ballpeen hammer and had a preternatural ability to read my mind.
Catherine wandered into my living room as I tried to explain the finer points of ‘thinking before you speak’ to my mother.
“Rick …”
I held up my finger and told Mom it’s not always the best course of action to say everything that’s on one’s mind.
“Ricky.”
“Mom, can you hold on a second? Thanks.” I placed my hand over the phone. “What’s up? Talking to my mom. What do you think about getting together on the—”
“I’m late, Rick.”
“Late for what? Seinfeld’s not on for at least another half hour.”
“My period, Rick. It’s late.”
Shock.
Terror.
Oh shit.
Mom’s voice squawked from the cordless. “Richard? Richard are you still there?”
I swallowed the dry click in my throat.
“Mom? I’m gonna have to call you back.”
I hung up without saying goodbye.
~~~
“We need to talk, Rick.”
No shit we needed to talk.
Ring.
Late.
Rinnnnng.
Fuck me.
Rinnnnnnnnnng.
Catherine and I stared each other, the moment holding us in its tenacious grip.
“Are you going to get that?”
RINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNG!
I turned on the answering machine. Mom would have to wait.
“I think I’m pregnant, baby.” Catherine’s voice wavered.
Pregnant.
Baby.
My voice came back to me.
“How can that be? We use condoms. We always use condoms.”
Catherine took her eyes off of mine and looked at the floor. “Nothing’s foolproof.”
She sat next to me, face devo
id of expression.
“It’s not official yet, Rick. I haven’t gotten a pregnancy test. But usually I’m like clockwork. You can set your watch by my cycle.” She tried to force a smile. “Not that you’d want to. Aunt Flo from Red Bank should have visited days ago. I wanted to give it a couple days, just in case, but … I’m late.”
“We need a test. I’ll go get you a test. I’ll hit the drug store around the corner and get you a test. How’s that sound? It sounds good to me. Yeah, a test. That’s what we need. A test.” I bounced off the couch, blathering like the village idiot.
Catherine offered a patient smile, brave in the face of impending doom. “That would be great. Thanks.”
“Noneedtothankme!”
I ran over to the kitchen table and grabbed my wallet and keys, then I ran to the door, stopped, turned, and rushed over to her. Catherine raised an eyebrow. Bending down, I gave her a firm kiss on the lips.
“I love you. I’ll be right back.”
Her eyebrow raised even higher. “I … love you too, Ricky.”
With that said, I hurried to the drug store.
When I got back, Catherine secreted herself in my bathroom. My body felt charged, filled with an uncertain and nervous energy. For good or bad, I wanted the uncertainty gone. I had to know. The sooner I knew the sooner we could plan.
There was still so much we wanted to do. Catherine wanted to complete her MBA. The degree would help her move up at the networking solutions firm she worked for. We both wanted to do some travelling; a cruise, Hawaii, the Grand Canyon, Niagara Falls … hell, I’d go down the falls in a goddamn barrel if it would get us out of this. The old Woody Woodpecker cartoon flashed through my mind’s eye and I almost laughed. Almost.
I put my ear to the door. Creepy and somewhat voyeuristic, but an eternity had passed since she went in there.
Everything is going to be okay. A-okay. Totally okay. Off the charts okay.
Funeral with a View Page 2