by Jane Graves
Tony dutifully scooted over and helped Heather rip the paper away. And when he saw what was behind it, he was stunned. He’d been afraid of toasters and blenders and bath towels, but this?
Courtesy of Barbara and Fred, they now had a very large, very old portrait of the ugliest woman on earth, which Tony recognized as the portrait that had been hanging over their fireplace. And now he and Heather were stuck with it?
“Oh, my God,” Heather said, staring at it dumbly. “It’s Grandma Frances!”
Barbara smiled. “I don’t know why you’re surprised. You knew one day it would be yours.”
“Well, yeah, but . . .” Heather glanced nervously at Tony. “But she’s been hanging over your mantel since you and Dad got married. You can’t give her up.”
“Nonsense. I’m supposed to give her up. That’s the way family heirlooms are. Fred’s mother passed her down to us, and now we’re passing her down to you.” She turned to Tony. “You know, she was considered quite a handsome woman in her day.”
“Yes,” Tony said. “I can see why.” Actually, he couldn’t see it at all. If this was handsome, what did the ugly women look like?
“But she stayed a spinster until the day she died,” Barbara added. “She ran the newspaper in Sorrento, Texas, for fifty-two years. She was a feminist before there were feminists. Men weren’t exactly ready for that at the time.”
“Well, I’m all for feminism,” Tony said. “I like strong women.”
Heather gave him another one of those looks, which he also ignored.
“And you have just the place for her.” Barbara poked Fred. “Try it out above the fireplace. Let’s see how it looks.”
No. No way. The last thing Tony wanted was sour-faced Grandma Frances staring down at him for the next month. But Barbara was smiling again, and Fred was frowning, and both of those things told him that a confrontation over the issue just might end in tears and bloodshed.
Fred picked up the portrait and rested it on the mantel. Barbara put her hand against her cheek, staring up at it with a bittersweet smile.
“She looks beautiful up there, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah,” Heather said, looking a little sick. “Beautiful.”
“Grandma Frances would be thrilled to be here.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Heather said. “It makes me feel right at home. For her to be looking down at me. You know. Like that.”
Tony thought about a horror movie he’d seen once where the eyes on a portrait followed anybody who walked by. He swore Grandma Frances’s eyes were doing a little tracking of their own.
“You’ve met a lot of our family,” Barbara said to Tony. “Will we be meeting yours anytime soon?”
Tony froze. “Uh . . . no. None of my relatives live here.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Barbara said.
“What does your old man do?” Fred asked.
“He’s a retired Navy officer. Lives in Fort Lauderdale.”
Fred gave him a curt nod. “Good career.”
Tony wasn’t surprised by Fred’s opinion. Cops and military officers were cut from the same cloth. As a matter of fact, Tony could see a lot of his father in Fred. Unsmiling. A man of few words, and what few words he did speak made Tony feel as if he was judging every move he made.
“And what about your mother?” Barbara asked brightly.
“She died when I was a kid.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry!”
Tony shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”
“How old were you?”
“Ten.”
“So young,” she said, then smiled. “Any other family?”
“A few aunts and uncles on the East Coast. I don’t see them very often.”
“I’m sorry you have so little family in town. But just think. Now you have all the family you’ll ever want.”
“Yeah, Tony,” Heather said. “Isn’t that great? And maybe the rest of that great big family would just love to come see your new business.”
He slid his hand to her thigh and squeezed. “I’m sure most of them wouldn’t be interested in coming to a sports bar.”
“Fred would,” Barbara said, then turned to Fred. “There are big-screen TVs.”
“There had damn well better be if it’s a sports bar,” Fred said.
“Come on, Fred,” Barbara said. “It’s time for us to go. Tony needs to get back to the bar. Just let me go to the little girls’ room first.”
Tony shot a look at Heather, who shot one back at him: I told you so.
While Barbara was gone, Heather talked to her father about something going on with one of their relatives. Or, rather, she talked at her father. As usual, Fred didn’t say much. And all the while, Tony imagined Barbara stealing glances into his bedroom, peeking inside his medicine cabinet, and lifting the toilet lid to make sure when he said “shipshape,” he meant it. She came back to the living room a few minutes later, all smiles, which meant his apartment had passed inspection.
She and Fred rose to leave. As they were walking out the door, Fred glanced back at the portrait, then leaned toward Tony and whispered, “She’s been glaring at me for the past thirty-two years.” His mouth twitched into something that looked almost like a smile. “Now she’s all yours.”
The only satisfaction Tony felt right then was the thought of it ending up back over Fred’s mantel. Give it a month, Fred, and she’ll be glaring down at you all over again.
As soon as Tony clicked the door shut, he turned on Heather, who looked frustratingly unconcerned about any of this.
“Tell me it’s not just me,” he said. “Tell me that portrait is the creepiest thing on earth.”
“That portrait is the creepiest thing on earth. When I was a kid, I swore the eyes followed me. I’m still not so sure they don’t.”
The old woman’s face made Tony’s skin crawl. “We’ll put it in your room. Facing the wall.”
“No. If my mother drops by and doesn’t see it, she’ll be hurt. And at least it fills the space. There’s nothing there now.” She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my. It looks as if we’ve found one more flaw in your brilliant plan, doesn’t it?”
He glared at her, then turned his expression of disgust back to the portrait, imagining what it was going to be like to come home to it every day. Yep. Excruciating. But since this whole experience was excruciating, did it really matter?
“Okay, Franny,” he said with resignation. “You’ve got a home for a month.”
“Frances,” Heather said. “She hated being called Franny. Have respect for the dead.”
“Granny Franny.”
“She’d have castrated you for that.”
“A battle-ax swinging a battle-ax. Doesn’t get much badder than that.”
“Texas is a community-property state,” Heather said. “You’re entitled to fight me for her when we split up.”
“Nope. She’s all yours.”
“Maybe we could divide her down the middle. Then she’d only be half as ugly. Oh! I know. If you agree to take her, I’ll throw in my grandfather’s collection of magnets from all fifty states.”
“As tempting as that is,” Tony said, “I think I’ll pass.”
“Tell me what awful things you have from your family. Maybe we can trade.”
“Nothing, actually. Like I told your parents, my family’s pretty small.” He checked his watch, then grabbed his keys. “I have to get back to the bar.” Halfway to the door, he turned back around and pointed at Heather. “And don’t clean anything while I’m gone.”
Heather just folded her arms and gave him that sweet smile again, which meant he’d probably walk back through his door later to find she’d scrubbed the bathroom grout with a Q-tip and sterilized his TV remote.
Good God. Three days ago, he’d been a nice, normal bachelor with his underwear on the floor and nothing in his fridge but beer and day-old pizza. Now he had terrifying wall décor and a wife with a cleaning fetish, along with a terrible feeling that the wei
rdness was just getting started.
Chapter 11
The next Saturday evening, Heather was drinking martinis with Alison at Chantal’s, which was down the block from McMillan’s. It was a loud, hard-edged club with lots of chrome and glass and yuppies on the prowl. Pretension hung in the air, as thick and choking as tear gas. Regina went there a lot, which was a really good reason for Heather to stay away, but since she’d told Alison that McMillan’s was off-limits for now and maybe forever, they had to drink somewhere.
“This place sucks,” Alison grumbled. “The men are creepy, and the waitresses are conceited bitches. And paying ten bucks for a martini is stupid.”
Heather didn’t much like that herself, but she wasn’t going to McMillan’s, and that was that. Still fresh in her mind was the way the waitresses had looked at her, then at Tony, their expressions practically shouting, Her? You gotta be kidding me. The truth was that they were all hopelessly shallow people who cared more about looks than what was inside a person, so why should she subject herself to that?
Then she realized that sounded like one of the nauseatingly uplifting e-mails her friend Kathy forwarded to her all the time, the ones with smiley faces and baby animals and animated images that told her what a special and unique person she was. Heather was getting a little tired of being the kind of person who other people thought needed pick-me-ups like that.
Alison peered out the window. “There sure is a big crowd at McMillan’s tonight. Looks like fun.”
Heather knew Alison could see McMillan’s from their booth, which was why Heather had declined to sit on that side of the table. Now, though, she was beginning to wish she hadn’t. It was too hard to steal glances when Alison wasn’t looking.
“Business must be good,” Alison said.
Heather shrugged and took another two-dollar sip of gin.
“I mean, look at all the cars in the parking lot.”
“There are more people here.”
“Yeah. Horny men and slutty women.”
“There are plenty of those at McMillan’s, too.”
“The difference is that these horny men and slutty women think they’re high class.” Alison tapped her fingertips on the table. “Speaking of horny men, how’s your husband?”
“If you don’t stop referring to him as my husband—”
“Okay. Then how’s that horny man you’re cohabitating with?”
Heather looked down at her drink. “I wouldn’t know.”
Alison eyed her carefully. “This is nuts. First you insist we come to this neon meat market, and now you’re pretending not to care about Tony even though you’ve looked over your shoulder at McMillan’s so many times your neck is going to cramp.”
“I’m just wondering if things are running smoothly since he bought the place. That’s all.”
“If we go over there, we can find out. Why don’t we?”
“Things are going to be a whole lot easier if Tony and I stay as far away from each other as possible.”
“But you’re living with him. How far away from him could you possibly stay?”
“We don’t see much of each other. He doesn’t get home until late every night, and I’m up early to go to work.”
“So stay up late one night and seduce him.”
“Alison, will you stop?”
“I bet it wouldn’t take much, considering he’s stuck without sex for a month.”
“I don’t sleep with men because they’re horny and I’m handy. I don’t like being used.”
Alison turned her gaze heavenward. “Please, God, just once in my life, let a guy like Tony want to use me.”
“That’s demeaning.”
Alison folded her arms on the table and looked at Heather. “You know what your problem is?”
Heather had plenty of problems. She just wasn’t sure which one Alison was going to point out.
“You don’t recognize opportunity when you see it. It’s like you’re standing in front of a great big wall-to-wall buffet, and you decide you’re not going to eat.”
“No buffet references,” Heather said, glaring at the scant pile of field greens, tomatoes, shredded carrots, and low-fat dressing in front of her that wasn’t worth one-tenth of the fourteen dollars she’d paid for it. “I still have to drop a size by the end of the month.”
“Heather. Focus.”
“I am focused. I’m focused on what an idiot I was to go along with Tony’s plan in the first place.”
“You weren’t an idiot. You get to go to your snotty cousin’s wedding with a really hot guy.”
Heather started to tell herself it wasn’t worth it, only to think about Regina’s snarky face and realize that maybe it was.
Their waitress came to their table, balancing a tray full of drinks on her fingertips. She wore the house uniform—a black catsuit cut halfway to her navel that fit condom-tight, a heavy silver chain around her hips, and a pair of black spike heels. She looked like Catwoman with a sadomasochism fetish. She gave them a look of sheer boredom she’d stolen from Paris Hilton and asked if they wanted another martini.
“No, thanks,” Alison said, glaring at her glass. “One more drink at these prices and I won’t be able to pay my rent.”
The waitress lifted her chin and looked straight down her nose. “You could go down the street to McMillan’s. I hear it’s two-dollar beer night.”
Alison turned to Heather. “See, I told you we should have gone there.”
“Just the check,” Heather told the waitress, who dismissed them with a not-so-subtle roll of her eyes as she slinked to the next table, where she gave three guys in power suits the drinks on her tray while they stared at her breasts and conjured up their favorite dominatrix fantasy.
“Yet one more reason I hate this place,” Alison muttered. “I wish we could go back to . . . whoa. What’s going on there?”
Alison had shifted her gaze to the window. Heather swiveled around and looked down the street to McMillan’s. She saw an ambulance pulling up to the front door, its red lights swirling in the darkness, and a feeling of dread swooped through her.
“I don’t know,” Heather said.
“Let’s go find out.”
Heather paused only a few seconds before tossing money on the table to cover the check and grabbing her purse.
As they left Chantal’s and approached McMillan’s parking lot, Heather saw people standing around like people do when there’s an emergency, talking among themselves, speculating about things they know nothing about, and generally getting in the way. Then the door opened, and the EMTs brought out a woman on a stretcher. Heather peered over somebody’s shoulder.
It was Jamie, Tony’s very pregnant assistant manager. She was wide awake, and since there was no blood and no screaming, Heather figured it couldn’t be too bad. But there was the baby to think about. About a thousand things could go wrong there.
Tony followed the EMT guys out the door. He gave Jamie’s hand a quick pat and said something to her as they loaded her into the ambulance. Then they closed the doors and took off. The sirens weren’t blaring, so Heather took that as a good sign, too. But when Tony put his hand to his forehead, squeezing his eyes closed as if he had a monumental headache, she took that as a bad one.
She squirmed through the crowd and caught him before he went back inside. “Tony? What’s wrong? What’s happening?”
“Heather? What are you doing here?”
“We were having drinks down the street at Chantal’s and saw the commotion.”
“Chantal’s?” he said with a look of disgust. “What were you doing there?”
“That’s what I asked her,” Alison said. “The men are slimy, the waitresses are bitchy, and ten bucks for a martini? Are they kidding?”
“Tony, this is my friend Alison, who’s going to shut up now. What’s wrong with Jamie?”
“She’s okay. She just went into labor and couldn’t get hold of her husband. She’s six weeks early, and I didn’t want to tak
e any chances. So I called nine-one-one.”
“That was a smart thing to do.”
“Oh, yeah. It was great. There hasn’t been enough chaos around here this evening, so I thought, Hey, why don’t I call an ambulance and bring on a little more?”
Heather drew back. “What are you talking about?”
“Sorry. Can’t stay and chat. See, I have a business falling apart inside, and I’d like to say good-bye to it. Or maybe I’ll just burn the place to the ground and collect the insurance money. If you ladies will excuse me?”
The crowd parted and Tony went back inside. Alison turned to Heather. “What’s up with him?”
Heather didn’t know, but sarcastic defeatism wasn’t his style. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
They went inside, and Heather was stunned. Every table was full, and the bar was standing room only. The place was buzzing with conversation and swirling with energy. People were eating, meeting, laughing, and drinking. Right now this bar and grill screamed profit, and Tony should have been over the moon about that.
Why wasn’t he?
Tony pulled baskets of burgers out from under the warming lights, cringing at how dry they looked from sitting there too long. He packed them on trays for the waitresses to deliver. Assuming, of course, that the waitresses he had left hadn’t thrown in their aprons and run screaming from the premises.
As an adult, he really hadn’t known what stress felt like. He’d engineered his life for just the opposite, honing his surroundings, handpicking the people he associated with and the jobs he took, then smoothing out the edges into the kind of existence where he could sit back, relax, and live it up. No real pressure, no big demands. He thought that was what he was getting when he bought this place, with the added benefit of being his own boss and making a really nice profit. How deluded must he have been?
“Tony. What’s going on?”
He spun around to see Heather standing behind him, and it wasn’t a welcome sight. First she’d been at Chantal’s, patronizing his competition, and now she was here to bug him, which would help ensure he was no competition at all. And if his waitresses or any of the regulars saw her, the speculation about his marriage would begin all over again.