Mongey’s was an Irish pub dwarfed in shadows as the city built up around it over decades. There were yellowing laminated team plaques nailed to the wall and paper shamrock decorations left up year-round. Biz ordered a Macallan’s whisky from atop a worn varnished stool. It was Grandpa Dun’s drink, and she thought she’d try it on the rocks with a twist. It smarted as a prickly flame briefly engulfed her chest, so she shook the ice, hoping it would become smoother. The bartender was a short Irish lad in a black collared shirt with piercing summer-sky-blue eyes. As she licked her finger, she caught him looking. He quickly glanced away. He had the unattended teeth of Ireland’s middle class, a thick brogue, and jet-black hair. He joked easily with the regulars and made them feel less grizzled. She wondered if he was smart and/or single.
Biz sat quietly, sketching her oddball designs—a three-piece suit made of Astroturf, a strapless chenille gown—and was intrigued that he left her alone. She drank half her scotch, left a dollar before she left. They did this dance for a full week.
The bartender knew from years at the job that this dimpled beauty was trouble. He knew he represented a way to get back at her parents, a dalliance, which never ended well. She was exciting, persistent, and subtly intoxicating—the easy confluence of privileged America. He was witty and street smart but sorely undereducated—too sweet, and his heart too vulnerable.
Biz sat opposite the glass-washing sink, on the eighth night trapping him in front of her. “You’re going to make me guess your name, aren’t you?” she asked.
“I’m not going to make you do anything,” he said without smiling. But she’d seen his eyes gleam when he threw his head back to laugh.
“I’m Biz. Short for Elizabeth,” she said, and waited. “Now, I know your mother taught you better manners.”
“Hello, Elizabeth,” he said meeting her eyes for a half second.
“Biz is fine,” she countered, but he said nothing.
“And your name is … Paddy.” He rolled his eyes.
“Danny.” He shook his head.
“Juan Carlos? Mohit? Kareem? It’s Kareem.” He exhaled, exasperated.
“This is painful,” he said, looking away, trying not to grin.
“Oh, I can do this all night.”
“Why is that? Don’t you have to get up in the morning?”
“I have relaxed hours. My boss is the daughter of my grandfather’s college roommate.”
“Of course she is.”
“Francis, Finnbar, John-Patrick, Sean-Patrick, Patrick Michael McPatrick O’Finnigan.”
“You’re hilarious. Now go home. It’s past your bedtime.”
“I’ll leave when you tell me your name.” Biz looked right at him with her seafoam eyes. His brogue was killing her, but she tried to hide it. She’d removed two barrettes from either side of her hair earlier, and it fell thick and dark, cascading around her shoulders. She tucked a healthy chunk behind her ear and grinned.
He said, “How about I tell you my name and you pick another bar to write in your diary and nurse your half-empty glass of whisky.”
Biz slid sideways onto one elbow, anchoring herself to the bar. “It’s not a diary. It’s a sketchbook.”
“What do you sketch?”
“Crazy clothes and bespoke costumes. I call it my Outlandish Couture line.”
“Fine,” he said. “It’s Finn. I’ve got to keep moving.”
Biz got up off her elbow and smiled. “Fine. And it’s half full. G’night, Finn,” was all she said as she grabbed her purse. This time she left him two dollars.
It didn’t take Biz long to win Finn over, though longer than she expected. She would utter wry commentary under her breath when he had a particularly challenging exchange with a customer. She stayed until closing one Friday night and asked him to walk her home. He acquiesced, knowing there was no point refusing. “You’re the kind of girl who doesn’t hear ‘no’ a lot, aren’t ya?”
Biz looked over her shoulder and said, “Who, me?”
“You’ve got nerve.”
“I’ve got pluck.”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Finn grabbed his keys, hit the lights, and gave in. Her dimple carried him to the door.
Biz and Finn circled her neighborhood, chatting for forty-five minutes before arriving across the street from her apartment—three doors down from Mongey’s. When he realized what she’d done, he said, “Are you daft, woman? You must be joking!” Biz looked him straight in the eye, the streetlight adding to her glimmer. “Do I look like I’m joking?” she whispered, then gazed at his sky-blue eyes.
Finn O’Donoghue looked into Biz Thornden Chadwick’s sage-green eyes for a very long time and sighed. He was weighing the pros and cons of his next move. His final thought was For fuck’s sake, it’s summer; then he kissed her. Biz backed away slowly and took him by the collar. She tugged him into the dark alley and pulled him in so their hips aligned, hungry for the connection she’d been craving since Charlie. Shock waves warmed her nethers as she felt a firmness at her thigh. Finn answered her with his own wordless appetite. He’d been in the States for a year and a half and had yet to meet anyone fun. Up until now he’d only met “ninnies” or divorcées, sloshed and slurring. His focus was to earn money and stay under the immigration radar; everything else was a calculable distraction. “Elizabeth, maybe we shouldn’t…” but Biz didn’t let him finish. She liked the way he called her Elizabeth, and the way he kissed. She liked his starkly pale skin. Where she came from everyone was tan.
Finn moved his hands onto and over her, tracing the body he’d wondered about for weeks. She let him discover her, then lifted up her skirt. They had an incredibly hot four minutes, Biz leaning against a brick wall. Finn filled her up and her mind flooded with chemicals. Things can only go up from here—especially on a bed, she thought. “Was that meant to happen?” he asked. “Oh, yes,” she answered, adjusting. If he was the kind to kiss and tell, his divulgences would have no bearing. Their social paths would never cross, and his stories would never reach Charlie. Finn O’Rourke O’Malley was Biz’s calculable distraction. He would be her summer fling—this will do nicely.
Three times a week they met at her apartment during her lunch break and before his shift started. It was a heavenly way to pass the summer, and her roommates never caught on. But over time he became clingy, broodish, and less adventurous. He left too many messages on her answering machine. She could tell he was dreaming of a green card and chubby babies like his friends had back in Ireland. Biz wanted kids, but no time soon, and definitely not with Finn. When Labor Day came, she was relieved and gave him a fake university name. She knew he’d never look it up at the library. She wished him well and told him she’d be in Florence all fall on an art history expedition.
“Don’t try to write,” she told him.
“Because Italians have no postal service?”
“Not with all the religious holidays, and strikes.”
Then she kissed him sweetly, leaving him bereft in her wake. She didn’t mean to be cruel, but he wouldn’t accept it would have never worked out. She wouldn’t be having babies until her thirties, she reasoned. And marriage was a long way off, and wasn’t summer all about fun? She knew Finn would hold a torch for her for weeks.
* * *
On Labor Day weekend Charlie and Biz stood next to each other, scraping layers of charred seafood off the grill. It was time for their end-of-the-summer intimate family beach house barbecue—twenty expected for a sit-down dinner. They hadn’t seen each other since Memorial Day Weekend; this was the longest they’d ever been apart. Biz nudged Charlie. “I’ve been dying to ask, but I wanted to wait until I saw you in person. How was the sex?” Her eyes flashed, curious. “Piper any fun in bed?” Charlie remained silent, still nursing his wounds. “Was it quick? Is she on the pill? Did she orgasm?”
“I’m not answering you,” Charlie cut her off. He’d been dreading this line of questioning, anxious to know if he’d feel differen
tly about Biz, now that he’d been with Piper. He’d hoped the distance would make him not want her. Just the opposite, he wanted her more. And probably loved her, but didn’t dare say it.
Biz spoke in a low voice out of the side of her mouth. “Those long legs must be good for something. I heard from Putty Gringham that last week Piper and Robbie—”
“Knock it off,” he said, the wound still fresh.
“Ooooh. You in luuuv?” She drew out the word “love” like an obnoxious schoolyard kid. Charlie hated himself for feeling used and wanted to gently throttle Biz. But the sky was a bright expanse of blue that day and lit Biz’s green eyes from within. Her golden skin made her teeth all the brighter, and her dimple just made him angry.
“What about you?” Charlie shot back. “Sleeping your way through all the douchebags on the Upper East Side couldn’t have been easy.” His eyes crackled with vengeance; the outburst surprised her.
“It was only one douchebag, and he was actually nice. You’d have liked him.”
“I’d rather not meet him, thanks.”
“You won’t. Past tense. He’s not our kind, dear.” Biz allowed for a measure of quiet. “Hey, I’ll stop. I was only kidding. It’s Piper’s loss,” she said sweetly, and bumped his shoulder. “There’s still no one like you,” she whispered. Charlie tried to shove his feelings for Biz in a box.
E.J. walked toward them with a stack of folding chairs. “Hey, Jan and Peter, why the long faces?”
“Toidi,” Biz said to Charlie in their secret language. “None of your beeswax. We’re fine,” she told E.J., but he called them out on their bullshit. “No, you’re not. I sense a rift.” He slowed to examine them. “You’re not your usual Captain and Tennille selves.”
“Get lost,” said Charlie, and shot E.J. a look. E.J. went after his sister. “You jealous of Piper? Lovers’ spat? Has he heard about the losers you screwed?”
“Fuck off,” said Biz.
“Yeah, really. Fuck off,” added Charlie.
Cat wandered up and sensed tension. “Everything ducky here, kids?” E.J. exhaled a loose puff of air and walked away. Over his shoulder he called back, “Hey, geniuses, it’s ‘yes,’ not ‘yeah.’ You’ve got four hours to get it straight before Grandpa Dun annihilates you.”
Cat zeroed in on her son, Charlie; she remembered her idea that might brighten his mood. “Hey, you two, if there’s someone either of you are dating, why don’t you invite them home for Fall Festival? There will be plenty of room, and it would be fun to see a few new faces—give Grandpa Dun some fresh meat to interrogate.” It would also afford herself, she was well aware, some welcome peace of mind about those two.
The Firth Fall Festival was a big deal in their community, and the Thornden clan had been going for generations. Family activities sprang up all over town, creating a magical, olde-timey Brigadoon. Carnival games, petting zoo, pie baking contest—it was Little House on the Prairie without the bonnets. After the Twilight Dance, everyone always slept over at Nana Miggs and Grandpa Dun’s. In the morning they enjoyed pancakes in their pajamas. “Sounds great, Mom, thanks,” said Charlie. “We’ll try.” Cat waited a brief moment for her son to make eye contact, but when he didn’t she thought better of pushing him and went on her way.
Charlie turned to Biz once his mom had gone. “I’m so done being treated like some creepy V. C. Andrews duo. It’s like they’re looking for it now, or pretending not to. Who the hell are we going to invite out for the weekend just to prove we’re not screwing? Piper is still with Robbie—no fucking surprise. Are you going to invite your Morgan Stanley guy from the summer?”
“He wasn’t that kind of … No, I’m not. Listen, let’s do what we talked about. This’ll be fun. It’ll be like The Dating Game but with a finish line. We can help each other find someone.” She knew Charlie better than anyone and would have a keen sense of who he’d click with. She also knew he had her best interests at heart.
Charlie exhaled. “I hate games.”
“Please don’t be cranky. You’re less handsome when you’re cranky.”
“Oh, God.”
“You love to play Othello and backgammon. This’ll be like a totally bitchin’ elaborate game of backgammon.”
“Will it?” He looked unconvinced.
“No. Not really.” Biz beamed. Charlie broke into a grin. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” His Crest toothpaste smile dazzled Biz even when he wasn’t trying. His bangs were thick and slightly shaggy in a movie-actorly way. She fought the urge to reach out and tuck a loose brown wave behind his ear. She still found him achingly attractive.
“There ya go, cowboy. At least you’re handsome again.”
“Thank goodness,” he kidded. “That’s all that matters.”
* * *
Back at school for their sophomore year, Biz met Charlie at his dorm before heading over to the Wreck Room, the official unofficial campus bar.
“Hey, Foster,” she said, plopping onto Charlie’s bed. “How’d you end up with Charlie again?” Foster deadpanned, “Just lucky, I guess.” He was on his square beige personal computer, the kind that Biz had only seen in her college library. He never looked away from the screen when they had these short exchanges. Biz wondered absentmindedly if he had a face.
“What is that, a Macintosh Apple?” she asked.
“You mean a Mac? No, it’s an Amiga 1000. But I have a Mac, too.”
“Of course you do. C’mon, Charlie, you ready?” Biz said to Foster, “We’re heading to Wreck’s if you want to join us.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather stick forks in my eyes.”
Charlie said, “Atta boy. Way to be a joiner.”
The Wreck was sweaty, packed, and humming for a Thursday night. College students crammed shoulder to shoulder, crowding the foosball and pool tables. The jukebox and dartboard were just as popular. There were dim hanging lamps over each high-backed booth and cheap beer-logo mirrors screwed to the walls. The names of bands and lovers were carved into every inch of dark, tacky pine—barely legible and filled in with grime. The chipped linoleum floor was perpetually sticky as were the tabletops and most of the silverware.
“I’ll have a vodka tonic, please,” Biz said to the bartender, who took her order ahead of the guys already waving ten-dollar bills in the air. “And a Molson,” added Charlie. He turned to Biz. “Really? Vodka? Don’t you want to start with beer?” “It’s vodka o’clock somewhere,” she said in a jaunty mood. She was looking forward to their hunt like a game show contestant. Charlie was dreading it and wanted to leave. Biz bopped on her stool to the new Simple Minds tune that had played all over MTV and the radio since it debuted over the summer. The raucous bar crowd took a collective break in conversational slurring to sing the chorus in unison at the top of their lungs. “Don’t you … forget about me. Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t!” Charlie waited to speak until the shouting was over and the crowd had settled back into its base-level cacophony. “I didn’t come here to listen to a room full of wasted lame-os sing.”
Biz spread her arms out in a wide, sweeping arc like a queen addressing her kingdom. “These lame-os are our people. Among these lame-os lies the key to our salvation.”
“I think that’s stretching it.”
“Okay. How about, we have a job to do. This is your mission, should you decide to accept it…”
“Fine.”
“What about her?” Biz said, pointing down the bar. “She’s got big boobs.”
“So?”
“Okay, not a boob man. Noted.” Biz mimed taking notes. “Not … a boob … man.”
Charlie said, “Boobs are fine.”
“Fine?! Boobs are excellent! Get in the game, dude! You’re wasting precious time. You could have any woman in this gin joint.”
Charlie rolled his eyes and looked around. “And that’s a good thing?”
All the guys—mostly white—had shaggy-ish hair and barely distinguishable features. They wore primary-colored Izod or rugby shirts and fa
ded Gap jeans. If aliens had arrived at this bar they would have thought that male Boston earthlings were only Caucasian and had a mandated uniform.
“Ok,” Biz said eagerly, “me, now.”
Charlie gestured with his thumb toward the fire exit to a guy wearing piano suspenders and leaning against a pay phone, doing what looked like an impression of a theater kid smoking.
“What about Mork over there? You seem to be into faces. He’s got a face. And very snappy suspenders.”
“You’re terrible at this.”
“That’s because you’re asking me to pick out some random guy for you to sleep with. Of course I’m terrible at it.”
“We’re only going to act like we’re sleeping with them, remember?”
Charlie looked at Biz. He was silently pleading with her to end the game, but she didn’t get the message, or pretended not to. She was busy looking over Charlie’s shoulder at the lithe blonde. “That girl reminds me of Tindy. Hey, what about Tindy?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You have to ask?” Charlie paid the bartender seven bucks for the two drinks and left two singles on the bar.
“She’d be adequate. Or are you still pining for Piper? Too soon?”
“Too dumb. And too soon,” Charlie said. “If this is going to work, we need to split up. No one can see us together or we’ll end up cock-blocking each other.”
“A double cock-block. Would that be ‘cocks-block’ or ‘cock-blocks’?”
Charlie ignored her and began to survey his options in earnest. “I’m ignoring you starting now. Let’s meet back at this stool in forty-five minutes.”
Twisted Family Values Page 8