The Complete Novels of the Lear Sister Trilogy

by Julia London

  “Listen—do you see those Q-tips out there?” she whispered frantically. “They can’t hear and they can’t see, and I have to write the numbers on the board. Just give me a minute. One minute. That’s all I am asking.”

  When she asked so imploringly, he could imagine giving her as many minutes, hours, days, or nights as she wanted, and backed off. That, and the entire sea of sno-cones were staring at him. “Okay, all right,” he said, and backed away.

  “Well, lookie here, we got us a G-56. Gee-five-six, folks.”

  “Go sit with Grayson,” she ordered him, and stood up, walked back to the white board, and violently erased it.

  Matt stepped away, shoved his hands into his pockets, and strode down the row of tables, spotting her kid for the first time since he had come in. He was sitting at the very end of the table, next to woman with bottles of colored liquid and several stuffed bears.

  As Matt neared the boy, he noticed that every number on his sheet had been marked. The kid saw Matt looking at his card, and instantly threw his arms and head over it so Matt couldn’t see it.

  He grinned at the kid and continued to the back where Gunter and his photographer were taking pictures of the group. And there he remained until the announcer said the next session would start in twenty-five minutes. “In the meantime, help yourself to a delicious brisket dinner. Remember, it’s free! Just don’t forget to stay away from the beans, folks—be considerate of your neighbor,” the old man reminded them as they made an instant and mad stampede for the smaller room, practically flattening Matt against the wall.

  When the biggest group had passed, Matt spotted Rebecca at the table with her son and started toward her. When he reached her, Rebecca looked up, smiling a little deliriously. “Hey!”

  “When you said you had this thing lined up, I thought you meant you had it greased,” he said. “I don’t believe the words crash a bingo hall ever passed your lips.”

  “A cheery hello to you, too,” she said. “We are not crashing a bingo hall. I set up the bingo,” she continued matter-of-factly, pausing to flash a smile at a trio of leering old men in Sansabelt slacks floating by in the river of people headed for the free buffet. “These people like bingo.”

  “I noticed. Like it so much that we hardly have their undivided attention, do we? And Christ, I don’t even want to imagine how much money—”

  “Yo. Dude. He’s here.”

  They both looked past Gunter, who had appeared from thin air, and to the door, where Tom, Pat, and Angie had managed to squeeze past the thundering herd. Gunter was already moving, quickly cornering Tom, making him pose for a couple of pictures before he took one more step, which, naturally, Tom was happy to do.

  “Parrish! What the hell are you doing here?”

  Matt stifled a groan. He knew that voice.

  “Someone wants you,” Rebecca said, and turned around to her kid and the two old ladies he’d obviously been assigned to this evening.

  Suppressing a sigh, Matt turned around to face the top of Judge Gambofini’s head. He’d never seen Gambofini without his robes—the judge was wearing a red, horizontally striped polo shirt, only the stripes were much smaller on the top than those stretched across his enormous middle. Even more noticeable was that Gambofini was actually grinning for the first time Matt could remember. “Judge, how are you?”

  “Almost had bingo a couple of games back. Saw you up at the dais. You’re a little young to be hanging out with the Silver Panthers, aren’t you?”

  “Actually, I—” What he was about to say was interrupted by a strong slap to his shoulder that almost knocked the wind out of him.

  “Parrish! There you are!”

  “Senator,” Matt said, rubbing his shoulder. “You know Judge Gambofini, don’t you?”

  “I do,” Tom said, and eagerly stuck out his hand, although Matt knew damn well he didn’t have a clue who Gambofini was.

  “Ah,” said Judge Gambofini, eyeing Tom as he shook his hand, then slanted a gaze at Matt, clasped his hands behind his back, and rocked back and forth on his tiny feet. “So I guess the rumors about your political aspirations are true.”

  “What rumors are those?” Tom asked, planting his hands on his broad hips to better consider both men.

  “Nothing but a little courthouse gossip,” Gambofini chuckled. “If you boys will excuse me, I’m going to get me some of that brisket before it’s all gone,” he said, and smirked at Matt as he walked on.

  Great. This would be all over the courthouse come Monday.

  “Hey, this is fantastic,” Tom said, looking around at the decorations. “What a crowd! This is exactly the kind of thing we need to be doing. I want to congratulate this girl,” he said as Rebecca turned around. “You’ve outdone yourself again, Mrs. Reynolds!”

  “Lear,” she reminded him as he wrapped a big burly arm around her shoulders, squeezing so tightly that Rebecca winced at his strength. “It was really very easy to do.” She looked at Matt and said, “People make these things out to be a lot harder than they actually are.”

  “Ain’t that the truth?” Tom laughed, and let her go. “So where’s our hostess?”

  “She’s in the dining area. Let’s go find her,” she suggested, and the two of them walked off without sparing so much as a glance at Matt.

  “Is this for real?” This, from Pat, in the company of Angie, who had walked up to stand next to Matt and gape at the place. “I thought this was a meeting,” she said, tugging at the jacket of her plain gray suit.

  “You and me both.”

  “I think it’s totally cool,” Angie said. Her hair was jet black for the occasion. “I’ve never played bingo before,” she added as she wandered off to have a look around. Pat and Matt looked at each other; Pat shrugged, tugged on the jacket again. “Oh well . . . I guess when in Rome, right?” She followed Angie.

  “When in Rome, my rosy red ass,” Matt muttered, and turned around, noticed Rebecca’s son again. The kid was arranging new cards and was apparently getting a jump on the competition by marking some numbers before the game began. “Hey,” Matt said.

  “Hey,” the kid responded without looking up.

  “Remember me?”

  He frowned a little. “Sort of.”

  “I sort of remember you, too,” Matt said, and gave in, pulling up a chair. “Remind me what your name is.”

  “Grayson. What’s yours?”

  “Matt.”

  “Ex-cuse me? Hello?” One of the old women was peering down at him through enormous pink-rimmed glasses. “I’m Lil Stanton. And who might you be?”

  “Matt Parrish,” he said, coming to his feet and extending his hand.

  Lil Stanton looked at his hand, then at Grayson. “Do you know my great-grandson?”

  “Sort of. Right, buddy?”

  Grayson shrugged.

  “I work with his mom on Senator Masters’s campaign.”

  “Oooh,” Lil Stanton trilled, brightening instantly. “That’s so lovely. I so enjoy meeting Rebecca’s friends! I’m her grandma. You can call me Lil—and that’s her grandpa up there on the stage,” she said, her smile fading a little. “Just loves the limelight, that old fool. And this is Rebecca’s good friend Jo Lynn.”

  “Speaking of which,” said the other woman, who was wearing, Matt couldn’t help but notice, a tie-dyed shirt, “I best get up there. I’m marking the board next session.”

  Lil Stanton smiled at Matt, then made a show of arranging her next session sheets. Matt and Grayson sat in silence for several minutes, watching her align her stuffed bears, until Lil suddenly said, “Oh my . . .” She looked at Matt, blinking big blue eyes magnified through thick glasses. “I think Elmer was right about those beans. Would you mind watching Gray for a moment?”

  Matt never got the chance to answer—Lil was off like a shot, one hand on her belly.

  Grayson watched her disappear into the hall, then turned his attention back to his cards and methodically went down a row of N numbers, marki
ng them all.

  “So, you having any luck?” Matt asked.

  Grayson shrugged. “I don’t really like this game.”

  “I don’t like it, either,” Matt confided. “Too weird.”

  Grayson stopped marking his card and looked at Matt from the corner of his eye. “Mom said there might be someone to play with, but there’s not.”

  “Someone to play with?” Matt twisted around, saw that Rebecca and Tom were back in the bingo hall talking to a lady on a scooter. He shoved his hand in his pocket, withdrew several peppermints he had picked up at lunch. “Want one?” he asked Grayson as he popped one into his mouth.

  The child eyed the candy very closely. “I’m not supposed to eat it.”

  “Oh, yeah? Why not?”

  “‘Cuz there’s something wrong with my teeth. Candy hurts them.”

  “Ah,” Matt said, and unwrapped one, holding it out. “Live dangerously. This won’t hurt you.”

  Grayson peered up at him, assessing him.

  “What, you don’t believe me?”

  The kid responded by fixating on his tie.

  “Trust me, there’s nothing wrong with your teeth. Your mom just says stuff like that because she’s a mom,” he said. “Moms can be a little strange, and I won’t lie to you kid—your mom may be a lot strange.” He extended his hand a little farther. “Come on, she’ll never know.”

  Grayson took the peppermint, put it in his mouth, and smiled. Matt fished in his pocket again, pulled out a few more, and opened his palm. Grayson took four, unwrapped them, and popped them into his mouth along with the first, which was not exactly what Matt had intended, but the kid’s cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

  Grayson smiled, flashing a peppermint instead of teeth.

  “So what kind of games do you like?” Matt asked, smiling.

  “Ooogeeah.”

  “Ooogeeah?”

  Grayson laughed, his lips and tongue peppermint red. “Yu-Gi-Oh! And Barbie.”

  Matt’s testicles seized. “Barbie, huh? How come?”

  Grayson shrugged. “I just like her,” he said through the mouthful of peppermints.

  “You go to school, right?” Matt asked uncertainly. “What, second or third grade?”

  “Preschool.”

  “Cool.” He glanced over his shoulder again and started a little. As if she’d been summoned by some spooky maternal radar, Rebecca had turned around, was peering closely at them. And then she said something to Tom, started marching in their direction.

  “Uh-oh,” muttered Grayson through his mouthful of peppermints, looking over his shoulder, too.

  Uh-oh was right. “Okay, stay cool, buddy,” Matt muttered. “I got your back.”

  Rebecca reached them as the announcer gave them the five-minute warning. She stood in front of them, her arms folded tightly, looked at Grayson first, then Matt. “So what’s going on?”

  Grayson looked helplessly at Matt. “Hey!” Matt said, plastering a smile on his face, “We’re just a couple of guys hanging out. So, Vanna, don’t they need you up on stage?”

  “Grayson?” she asked, ignoring Matt. The kid tried to be nonchalant about it, but his cheeks were bulging. Rebecca frowned at Matt, then leaned over her son, so that she was, literally, in his face, and held out her hand. “Spit it out.”

  “Ah, come on, let him have it,” Matt whined as Grayson obediently spit out the five peppermints.

  “One would have been okay, Grayson. But five?” She frowned at her son, but gave Matt a look that effectively put him on notice, and for a moment, he saw Tanya Kwitokowsky before him, arms folded, pinafore perfectly pressed. You’re in trouble, Matthew Parrish!

  Rebecca very primly put the peppermints in a napkin.

  “So this is family night for the Lears, huh?” Matt asked, feeling a little on the reprimanded side.

  Still frowning, Rebecca asked, “You met Grandma?”

  “Yes, I did. And she pointed out Grandpa, too.”

  Rebecca winced. “The announcer didn’t show, so Grandpa stepped in.”

  “So when is Tom up?” Matt asked.

  Rebecca didn’t answer, just stepped over him and fell into Lil Stanton’s empty seat as her grandpa announced that the first game of the next session paid a double bonus for a bingo with an I-15, the response to which was a collective and appreciative gasp from the crowd that was beginning to filter back in, paper plates piled high with brisket, beans, and cole slaw. “Where’s Grandma?” she asked.

  “Something about beans,” he said. “So about that campaign speech,” he continued, scooting over to Grayson’s seat, next to Rebecca, and ignoring the announcer and the gray hairs that were all atwitter over the I-15 twist. “When is that, by the way? Before or after the ballroom dancing?”

  “During this session,” she said, and elbowed him in an apparent signal that he was to move over, which he refused to do. “Until then, you could make yourself useful and help me do this,” she said, perching on the end of her seat, taking one of the colored markers.

  “But—”

  Rebecca pierced him with another arresting blue-eyed look. “Matt. If you’ll just stop talking, I promise we’ll see if we can’t do your ballroom thing,” she said impatiently. “But Grandma will die if someone doesn’t watch her cards.”

  Matt opened his mouth to speak and tell her it was a joke, that the last thing he would ever suggest was ballroom dancing, for heaven’s sake, and that they really just needed to get on with Tom’s speech. But then he realized her thigh was pressed against the full length of his, and he recalled that lovely thigh in all its firm fleshy splendor, and before he realized what was happening, he was searching for the B-21 Grandpa called to kick things off.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Politicians are interested in people. Not that this is a virtue. Fleas are interested in dogs.

  P J. O’ROURKE

  This wasn’t exactly turning out as Rebecca had visualized— somehow, she had ended up sitting dangerously close to Big Pants and playing bingo for Grandma. She’d done everything else, why not? Not that she was playing all that well—she hadn’t actually heard Grandpa say much of anything since she had made contact with Matt’s body and the deep-sixed memory of last Friday night was flooding all her senses again, just like it had last night when he called.

  No more than five numbers had been called, but she’d already lost her place. And while she was desperately trying to catch up, Matt was sitting there, watching her mark her cards, his thigh pressed against hers as if this was no big deal, like he made women howl like hyenas every other day. Just casually letting his thigh burn right through her skirt, right through her skin and bone, right into the marrow.

  “Missed one,” he said, and leaned across her, his head startlingly close to hers, pointing to a B-4.

  “I know,” she lied, slapping his hand away so she could mark it.

  “Can he slow this down a little?” she heard someone behind her grouse. “He’s going too fast!”

  Everything was going too fast, spinning furiously around Rebecca’s brain, muddling her thoughts and all her self-preservation techniques.

  “Amateurs,” Matt muttered, pointing to another number under the G column on Rebecca’s card. “You missed that one, too.”

  Rebecca scooched up to the edge of her seat and quickly marked it. “Perhaps you’d like to get your own bingo sheet,” she suggested.

  “Nah,” he said, and reached for one of two extra markers Grandma had laid out for an emergency, and marked another G number on two more of her cards. “I like playing yours. And you obviously need all the help you can get.”

  That was definitely the understatement of the year.

  “Here we go, folks! Here’s an N-32! Don’t believe we’ve had a 32 yet . . . not with an N, anyway,” Grandpa said.

  Matt reached across her again to mark numbers, his arm inadvertently brushing against her breast. “Beg your pardon,” he said with a half-
cocked grin.

  Rebecca’s body responded to that brief contact with a gut-sinking shiver of anticipation. She tried to shift her chair away from Matt, but Grayson had wedged his chair in between hers and Jo Lynn’s so he could stand to draw pictures on the back of the bingo card sheets.

  “Come on, Mork, you’re losing focus,” Matt said to Rebecca, and casually slinging his arm across the back of her chair, leaned forward to mark more. His spicy scent filled all of her senses and sent her into a cloudy panic.

  “Give me the marker,” she demanded, holding out her hand.

  “No,” he said, studying the cards.

  “Look, these are my grandma’s cards, and if you screw them up—”

  “I got the picture, thank you, which is why I am helping you. I figure if you mess this up, Grandma will shoot first and take names later.”

  “Who am I shooting?” Grandma asked behind them, pushing and shoving her way down the aisle to get to her cards. “Okay, okay, I’ve got it,” she said, snatching the marker from Rebecca’s hand. “Y’all help Grayson or someone. What does that say up there? Jo Lynn needs to write bigger!”

  “N-32,” Rebecca said.

  “Will you lookie here? We got us another B. B-9, that is. As in, good news, Elmer, looks like that growth on your butt is beee-nign! That’s a B—”

  “BINGO! BIN-GO, BIN-GO!” a man shouted.

  “God-dam-mit!” Grandma cried, and threw down her marker.

  “Mom!” Grayson gasped. “Grandma said a dirty word!”

  “Don’t you worry, Boo-boo,” Grandma said soothingly. “God is punishing me as we speak.” She looked at Matt and smiled. “I still wish he hadn’t said it to the entire world, but I’ll tell you what—Elmer was right about the beans!”

  “Thanks for the heads-up,” Matt said cheerfully.

  Okay, so if a hole in the ground would please present itself, Rebecca thought. To make matters worse, Grandma dazzled them with one of her big I’ve-got-an-idea smiles that Rebecca and her sisters feared. She leaned across and gave Matt the once-over. “So, you work with Becky?”

  Rebecca immediately stood up. “Grandma, will you watch Grayson? It’s time for Tom’s speech.”