by Robin Yocum
Moonie winced. “Never? Goddamn, Duke. I stayed single just so I could gamble. What if I square everything up front? No more credit.”
“No, Moonie. Nothing. No more gambling. You’ve got to give me your word.”
Moonie looked away and exhaled.
Duke took a swallow of his beer, one brow arched high on his forehead. “Think about it, Moonie. I’m serious about this. If I cut you in and find out you’re still gambling, you’re out. Period. No questions asked. Not only is this the kind of thing that could ruin the business, but it also could ruin a friendship, and I don’t want that to happen. If you don’t want to quit gambling, I understand, but I need to know up front. Quite honestly, I think it’s an attractive offer, considering all you’ve gone through in the past couple of months.” Duke nodded toward his friend’s leg. “So, give it some thought.”
“I don’t need to think about it, Duke. I’m in.” He raised his right palm. “I’ll never bet another dime—my right hand to Christ.”
Moonie extended his thick hand, and they shook, sealing the deal.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
On the Monday after the grand opening, Duke worked at Duke’s Place until after the dinner rush, then turned it over to Moonie. It was dusk when he got home, the sun already a dull glow beyond the hills, the shadows falling long across the backyard and quickly disappearing in the twilight. He entered through the back door, taking off his shoes in the tiny mudroom between the door and the kitchen. There were no aromas of warming food; the home was sterile and unwelcoming, dark but for the dancing glow of the television in the living room.
Nina was sunk into the cloth couch, curling in her favorite corner, feigning sleep with her hands tucked under her chin. She was wearing a faded yellow sweatshirt and a pair of black, polyester stretch pants that strained across her ample hips. In spite of the distance that had grown between them, it still pained Duke to think of the cute and happy girl she had once been.
Now, she was perpetually angry. Frown lines had grown prominent, running in deep creases at the corners of her mouth and across her forehead. Too many times he had wondered if he was the one who sent her spiraling down this path. But in his heart, he knew Nina DeMarco Ducheski had a closet full of demons that would exist with or without him. Angel once said, “She blames you for her problems, but only because you’re convenient.”
Of course, Angel was right. That’s why Duke had to make the break. He no longer feared her outbursts or her brother’s threats. He had to do this for his own sanity.
Certainly, it wouldn’t come as a surprise. Three times before he had asked Nina for a divorce, and each time it met with the same theatrics—tears, promises to change, anger, and in one instance, a hot skillet across the side of the head. She would toss about the tenets of the Roman Catholic Church and the immorality of divorce. This attempt would be no different. Sadly, their relationship had devolved to that of a father and a rebellious teenage daughter.
He sat in the chair nearest her head, taking the remote from the coffee table to silence the volume on the television. Two spent cans of cola, a bowl with a puddle of chocolate ice cream in the bottom, and a TV Guide rested on the edge of the table nearest her. She took slow, steady breaths, but refused to acknowledge his presence. For a long minute he sat in silence, rolling the remote in his hand.
“Timmy’s dying,” Duke said. “I was there when Doc Kuhn stopped by last week. He doesn’t know how much longer Timmy has, but he said the end is in sight. I thought you might want to go see him before he passes.”
Nina ended her little game of possum, lifting her head so just her left eye was visible to Duke from behind the arm of the couch. She stared for a moment, then turned her view toward the television. “I’ve been meaning to go up and see him, but I just haven’t had the time,” she said.
“I understand perfectly. After all, your days are so jammed with watching soap operas that you can’t drive five miles up the road to see your dying son.” She ignored the jab. “Make time, Nina. He’s your son, and he won’t be here much longer. The very least you can do is visit with him.”
“You say that like it’s my fault that he’s dying.”
“It’s no one’s fault, Nina. But ignoring the unpleasantness won’t make it go away.”
Still, she was silent.
“How about sitting up for a minute? I want to talk to you.”
“What about?”
“Us.”
“What about us?” Nina lifted her eyes enough to see her husband, but was careful to avoid eye contact.
“Unfortunately, Nina, there’s not much of an us, anymore. Mostly, it’s you and it’s me. And, since there’s no chance of that changing, I don’t see any reason to continue with this charade of a marriage.” He paused a moment for another breath. “I want out, Nina. I want a divorce.”
As the words left Duke’s mouth, a wave of heat rolled over his body. It was the first time there had been true conviction behind the words. This time, he was ready to follow through.
“No! No, no, no,” she said, sitting up straight, using the tips of her fingers to tuck her hair behind her ears. “We’ve been over this before. I can’t. I won’t. I will never give you a divorce. It’s a sin against the church, and a sin against God.”
“When’s the last time you went to church, Nina, except to play bingo?”
“I won’t. That’s final.”
“Let’s work this out like adults, Nina. I’ll give you the house. I’ll do right by you until you can get a job and get on your feet . . .”
“The answer, Nicholas, is no. Under no circumstances will I give you a divorce, ever.”
“In that case, Nina, things are likely to get real ugly, because I want out, and I’m getting out.” He handed her an envelope. “These are the divorce papers from my lawyer. Read them. Everything is very fair.”
“No,” she yelled. “I won’t have it.” She threw the envelope at him. It hit his shoulder and slid to the crease between his leg and the side of the chair. Duke took the envelope and set it against the lamp on the end table at the edge of the couch.
“It’s going to happen, Nina. Let’s approach this like adults.”
Perhaps it was the finality of his words that turned her anger to sadness. She swiped at tears with the back of her left hand. “Let’s wait,” she said, forcing a smile. “We can work this out. I’ll lose some weight. Maybe we can have another baby; it’s not too late. It’ll be like it was when we were first married.”
Duke slowly shook his head. “Nina, it can never be like it was when we first got married. Those days are too far gone. We were just kids. We’re both different people, now. I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I want out. Read the papers and we can talk.” He stood and headed toward the back door.
She followed him out of the living room and into the kitchen. “Don’t go,” she pleaded, tears now streaming down both cheeks. “Stay. Let’s talk about it.”
“We’ll talk after you’ve read the divorce papers.”
In an instant, her jaw began to quiver in anger, and sadness was replaced by rage that boiled her skin crimson. “I’m not reading those papers, and we are not getting a divorce.”
“I’ll talk to you later, Nina,” he said, pulling the back door closed behind him.
After leaving the house, Duke drove to Cara’s. When he knocked, she slid back the curtain on the front door, squinted into the dark, then opened it just a crack. “Nick, it’s late,” she said.
“Just give me a minute,” he said.
She opened the door, and he slipped in.
Her ten-year-old son, K.J., was in his pajamas and sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the television. He looked up and waved. “Hi, Mr. Ducheski. What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Oh, I just stopped in to see your mom for a few minutes. Is that okay?”
“It’s okay with me.”
Cara stepped away from the door and raked some wild hair out of her eyes.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m leaving Nina.”
Her brows arched slightly, a sign of doubt. They’d had the conversation before. Duke had told Cara numerous times that he was going to get a divorce, but he had failed on each follow-through. He held out an envelope, which she opened to find a copy of the divorce papers.
“The night of the grand opening, after it was all over, I realized how empty it had been, because you weren’t there,” he said. “I decided that I didn’t want another important event in my life to pass without you by my side.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Although Duke’s office was far from palatial, it provided a refuge from the mayhem that was Friday night at Duke’s Place. When the men’s urinal flushed, the rattling pipes shook the back wall of his office. It was a constant interruption on busy nights, but he rationalized that it was the equivalent of hearing the cash register ring as patrons made room for more beer. The walls of the office remained unfinished sheet rock; nailed, spackled, and taped, but still in need of sanding and paint. In the crush to finish Duke’s Place in time for the grand opening, finishing the office walls had been one of the items he had tossed to the back burner.
From the bottom desk drawer he retrieved a pair of dime-store reading glasses and slid them onto the end of his nose. Out of sheer vanity, he kept the spectacles hidden. He couldn’t help but smile as he stared down through the glass at the first three months’ operating figures. They were astonishing. Never had he anticipated that Duke’s Place would do this well. After salaries and expenses, he was more than $53,000 in the black. He was printing money. The Christmas and New Year’s Eve parties had been as successful as the grand opening. It wasn’t long before he had hired extra help to handle the lunch crowd and the Friday- and Saturday-night throngs.
While things were going smoothly at Duke’s Place, Nina continued to be a problem. She was steadfastly vowing to oppose the divorce. To avoid confrontation, Duke spent most nights sleeping on the couch in his office. With each trip to the house, he moved a box of clothes or personal possessions out. After a few weeks, the only remaining object of his that had any value was the 1959 Buick Invicta in the garage. Beyond the Buick, he wanted nothing else, not the house, the furniture, or the memories. The apartment above Duke’s Place had a working toilet, a shower, a blow-up mattress, and a small, black-and-white television. That was all he required. Once he had located a safe place for the Buick, he would drive it away, both a real and symbolic gesture of putting his previous life in the rearview mirror.
Moonie had been putting in a lot of hours at the bar. He loved working as the bartender, a job he took quite seriously. He had been good to his word and had stayed away from Carmine’s, which was a relief to the little Italian, too. Duke feared, however, that he may have simply switched bookmakers. Moonie’s newest friend, a thickset man who went by the nickname Rhino, had been hanging around the bar for several weeks. He stopped by at odd hours and always seemed to have a wad of cash. Duke also worried that he was a mole for Tony DeMarco, looking for an opportunity to force gambling into the bar. There was, of course, the possibility that this was his imagination once again running in high gear. Rhino was probably just some sad sack trying to sponge beers from Moonie. With the big guy having partial ownership in the restaurant, that wasn’t likely to happen.
Duke was jotting down the last of the items on a checklist of “to dos” when Moonie poked his head in the door. “Ready for me, boss?”
He pointed toward the old couch with the eraser end of his pencil. “I liked it better when you were calling me ‘Bo-Peep.’ Sit down, and quit calling me ‘boss.’”
Moonie grinned. It was his newest and favorite name for Duke. “Okay, you’re the boss, boss.” He laughed aloud.
“You’re just your own best friend, aren’t you, Moon?” Duke held out the checklist for him to grab. “Here’s everything that needs to be done.”
Duke was still grinding away at two jobs, working a steady daylight at Wheeling-Pitt, then at Duke’s Place until closing. It was difficult, but he couldn’t afford to leave the mill until he was absolutely sure his restaurant was going to succeed. He was struggling to find a balance, because he didn’t want his jobs to damage his relationship with Cara, which had rekindled with his commitment to divorce Nina. Tonight, he was going to spend the evening with Cara. She had made arrangements for her parents to babysit the kids and had promised Duke a romantic dinner for two.
Moonie took a minute to read the list, mouthing each word. “No problemo, boss. I can handle this.”
“You’re sure?”
Moonie frowned. “You know, Duke, I don’t want to belittle what you do here, but this isn’t exactly rocket science.” He reexamined the list. “Then again, I’m not exactly a rocket scientist. Let’s see: turn off the lights, clear the bar, put the cash in the safe, mop the floor, restock the bar, fill the beer cooler, inspect the kitchen. I can handle it. Do you want me to lock the door when I leave?”
“Of course I want you to lock the door when you leave.”
Moonie handed him the list. “Better put it on there.”
Duke pulled the reading glasses from his nose and dropped them back into the drawer, fighting off a grin. “You’re hilarious, Moon. Okay, buddy, you’re in charge. While I’ve got you here, what’s the story with this Rhino character?”
“What do you mean?”
“Who is he? He’s been spending a lot of time around here. What do you know about him?”
“He’s a good guy. He likes this place. Drops a lot of dime.”
“What’s he do?”
“Sales. He lives up the river, somewhere, but this is his sales territory. He sells key chains and pencils and stuff—‘novelty items,’ he calls them.” Moonie pulled out a miniature flashlight emblazoned with the logo of a bank. “He gave me this. His company makes ’em. He said he would give us a good deal on all kinds of stuff like that. You interested?”
“Maybe sometime down the road. Are you sure he’s legit? You don’t think he’s working for Tony DeMarco, do you?”
“God, Duke, how paranoid are you?”
“Very,” he said. “Just keep an eye on him. I can’t afford to have DeMarco or any of his flunkies in here.”
“I thought you had a date,” Moonie said.
“You’re good with everything on the list, right?”
“I’m good.” He sensed that Moonie was like a teenager whose parents were about to leave him alone for the first time. He was thrilled to be in charge and anxious for his boss to be gone.
Duke pushed away from the desk. “All right, my man. I’m outta here.”
At 3:15 in the morning, Duke was awakened by Cara in the most provocative method she had at her disposal. After a few moments, he was at full staff; she straddled him and they made love for the third time. Cara’s sexual appetite was insatiable, and in short order she had the first of three back-arching climaxes. Duke joined her on the third before melding into the sheets, spent. She allowed her full weight to slump on his body, sliding on the perspiration on his chest. Her cool hair fell down around his neck. They dozed for several minutes until he gave her three pats on the small of her back, his usual nonverbal signal that it was time to go.
“No,” she whined. “Don’t go tonight. Stay here.” She pulled her head back and smiled. “Stay, and I’ll make it worth your while.”
“If you make it any more worth my while, I’ll be a dead man.”
She laughed and playfully bit his shoulder. “Why can’t you stay?”
“I just don’t want the kids to come by in the morning and find me . . .”
“The kids have seen you here before. The real reason is you want to go down to the restaurant and make sure Moonie got everything closed up to your satisfaction.”
He smiled. “Thou dost know me too well, fair maiden.”
“How about this? I’ll let you go now if your naked butt is back up here tonight.”
“Deal.”
When Duke walked onto her porch, molten steel flowed from a ladle at Wheeling-Pitt, lighting up the dark sky. They stood on the porch for several minutes, embracing, relieved and ecstatic that soon they would be together.
“The divorce is going to be an ordeal,” Duke whispered.
“You have broad shoulders. Besides, she won’t fight it as hard as you think. Once it becomes public knowledge, I think she’ll be too excited about playing the role of the martyr to fight it. She’ll revel in being the victim.” She reached up and kissed Duke softly on the lips. “That’s what she does best.”
Duke walked down the porch steps to the crumbling sidewalk that led to the pea-gravel driveway. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this way about Nina, sad as that was. He had loved Nina, but he never felt like he needed her. He needed Cara and her love.
He eased the Jeep onto Sycamore Street and drove down McKinley Avenue. From Cara’s, McKinley dead-ends into Hillside Drive, which sweeps to the left, past the Minute Market, for the long descent down Logan Avenue. He slowed and turned right onto Commercial toward the business district. It was a clear night, and the streetlights burned bright through the strip. Dim lights glowed inside the stores and offices, except for the bright, overhead lights that shone through the front windows of Duke’s Place.
Duke groaned at the sight of the bright lights. “Dammit, Moonie.” It was more than two hours past closing. The first item on the list he had given Moonie was, “Turn off the lights.” He parked at one of the metered spots in front of the restaurant and got out. At least he had remembered to lock the door. Duke pulled the heavy ring of keys from his pocket and let himself in. It was a mess.
“What the hell,” he said aloud.
The chairs had yet to be placed atop the tables, and the floor had not been swept or mopped. The kitchen lights burned bright. This wasn’t like Moonie.