“I don’t get it,” Cindy said, looking at the menu. “Since when are fried plantains a southwestern dish?”
“Well, it’s like this,” Steve said. “In Pennsylvania, all the restaurants are owned by Greeks, so you can get moussaka almost anywhere. Down here, all the restaurants are owned by Cubans. You can even get café con leche and ropa vieja at the Greek diners.”
The waiter came and took their order. “You really seem to like it here,” Cindy said, spreading the paper napkin in her lap. She brought her hands back to the table and twined her fingers together.
“I do,” Steve said. “It’s made me consider what I want out of life.”
“And what’s that?”
Steve took a minute to organize his thoughts. “Did I ever tell you how I went to have my hearing checked when I was in college?”
Cindy shook her head.
“Well, see, I talked too loud. In the dorms, people could hear me two or three rooms away. Somebody said, maybe I had a hearing problem. I went to student health, and they sent me to an audiologist at the University hospital, and I took all these tests. And there was nothing wrong with my hearing at all.”
“So?”
“It’s just, in the Ivy League, you’re not supposed to talk loud. So I had all this pressure to change. And that’s what it’s been like my whole life. I used to talk in school, and write notes, and I remember in 8th grade I spent all of Honors Algebra 2 drawing floor plans for houses. My teachers used to say, I was so smart, why couldn’t I act right? My parents wanted me to go to Harvard, and then law school, and be some successful corporate lawyer, because I liked to talk and I hated science, and that’s what smart kids grow up to be, doctors or lawyers.”
Cindy folded her hands together on the table top. “They just wanted what was best for you.”
“But how did they know? All those years, I felt like I was being stuffed in a box. Now, I’m free. I can talk loud. I can yell my goddamn lungs out if I want to. I’ve finally found something I can be good at, that I don’t have to change for. I like what I’m doing, at least most of the time, and I can do it, and I don’t have to keep my voice down or behave or anything. It’s great. Don’t you ever feel that way, trapped by what people want from you?”
Cindy shook her head. “I like my job. Sometimes hours pass while I’m sitting at my computer and I won’t even notice. The other day I didn’t realize it was five o’clock until my secretary passed by on her way out.”
Steve watched Cindy eat her salad. She was certainly pretty, he thought, and she had an air of self-possession that he found attractive. Throughout the meal they talked about what they wanted from life. Cindy wanted lots of money, a big house, expensive cars, foreign vacations. Children, of course, but a nanny to look after them. Membership on charitable boards, invitations to elegant parties.
Steve wasn’t quite sure what he wanted. The money and the trappings Cindy wished for would be nice, but he was concerned about what he had to do to get them. If he had kids, he wanted to raise them himself, not turn them over to a housekeeper the way some people did. And he thought you should only do charitable works for what you could do for others, not for invitations to fancy parties and the prestige of belonging to a board of directors.
Back at his apartment, they kept talking. They sat out on the balcony with glasses of wine and talked in the dark, watching headlights swing past and listening to the frogs in the swamp and the cries of night birds. Cindy yawned and said, “Travel always makes me tired. Do you want to go to bed?”
“Sure.” Cindy took Steve’s hand and led him to the bedroom. She got undressed in the bathroom, as she always did, taking off her makeup and putting on her nightgown. He stripped to his boxer shorts and got into bed to wait for her, sitting propped up on the pillows and reading a construction magazine he had brought home from the office.
Cindy came out of the bathroom in a nightgown that was sexier than anything he had ever seen her wear. She had always worn plain cotton nightshirts, usually with a ruffle of lace around the collar, but this had obviously come from Victoria’s Secret or Frederick’s of Hollywood. It was bright red and sleeveless, and the v-neck dissolved into the sweet crevice between her breasts. It ended in a frill of red lace just below her hips. “That’s pretty,” he said.
“Do you like it?” She twirled around once. “It’s new.”
She got into bed in a satiny rustle, and the scent of her Clinique moisturizer mingled with the night air and the cool cotton fragrance of the fresh sheets. Steve put the magazine down and turned the bedside light out.
The overhead fan whirred softly as they made love. Under the covers, Cindy turned from an aggressive businesswoman into a meek, prim debutante. She thought that mouths were for kissing and nothing else. She never used dirty words in bed and felt it was unladylike to squirm or wriggle around too much. Steve knew she was satisfied when the rhythm of her breathing escalated and then subsided in a series of deep sighs.
Cindy found love-making tiring and always dozed off as soon as they were done. Steve sat up, listened to a motorcycle revving somewhere in the distant darkness, and felt restless and unsatisfied. In New York, he had been content with a dull job and a love affair without passion. But coming to Miami and working on the site, he had realized how much richer his life could be when he had to invest his sweat and determination. It wasn’t enough to sit back and let life’s current drag you along.
He thought passion should bubble up from inside him; it wasn’t something you could impose or legislate. Sometimes he felt like he was most alive at the edge of solving a problem on the site. His heart raced and the synapses in his brain pulsed with energy. Why couldn’t making love be like that? He wanted to be able to build up a sweat, to throw back his head and howl, to feel like he would die if he couldn’t join his body together with Cindy’s.
And while he thought all this, she slept next to him, breathing evenly, never squirming or disturbing the sheets like Steve did. He watched her for a while, matching his breathing to hers, and eventually he slept.
The next morning they stayed in bed late and watched parades on TV until it was time to go to Harold and Rita’s for dinner. “We’re so glad you could come,” Rita said to Cindy, kissing her on the cheek. “Steven has made you such a stranger.”
“Thank you for having me,” Cindy said.
Mrs. Blatnick, Mimi, Sheryl and Richie were already in the living room, and Steve introduced Cindy. He had to submit to being kissed by his aunt, and to kissing old Mrs. Blatnick’s leathery cheek. Richie immediately started a conversation with Cindy, which made Steve nervous. He went into the kitchen.
The dining room table had already been impeccably set, and the damaged honeymoon tablecloth had been repaired almost as good as new. Alll the courses were either cooking, warming or cooling. “Can I do anything to help?” he asked.
“She’s very nice, Steven,” Rita said. “I didn’t remember her as being so pretty.”
Harold came into the kitchen and picked an olive off a tray. “Beats me why she came down here in the first place,” he said. “For Steve? Bleaah!”
“Thanks, Dad, you’re great for my ego.”
“Will you two please get out of my kitchen? Go entertain the guests.”
“Oh, and I left my book of magic tricks at home,” Steve said. The doorbell rang. “I’ll get it.”
It was Junior, bearing a bottle of wine, which was transported to Rita in the kitchen. Junior was introduced all around, and Richie immediately transferred his attention from Cindy to Junior. Sheldon and Dusty arrived a few minutes later, and Rita called everyone to the table.
She had really outdone herself. There was turkey, brisket, veal, and a vegetable lasagna. There were three different kinds of sweet potatoes, peas, beets, stuffing made in the bird and stuffing made on the stove, potato kugel, jellied and whole berry cranberry sauce, and potatoes baked in aluminum foil jackets.
The table was crammed with platters, bowls, bottles o
f wine and soda, and mineral water for Mimi, who didn’t like carbonated or alcoholic beverages. A card table had been placed at one end so that the table stretched all the way across the dining room, from the living room to the exterior windows. The stereo was tuned to the classical station and the air conditioning was set on 78.
Steve passed the turkey to Cindy and breathed a sigh of relief. It all seemed to be going well. Cindy had fended off Richie’s advances expertly, and so had Junior. Sheldon and Dusty were drinking heavily but still OK, and Mimi was busy taking care of her mother.
Even old Mrs. Blatnick was in a good mood, asking for things politely rather than imperiously. Sheryl chewed everything at least ten times, like a contented cow, and Rita and Harold sat at opposite ends of the table and beamed at each other.
When Mimi finished serving her mother she looked up and saw Junior sitting across from her. He was wearing a tie with little Pilgrims and turkeys on it, and it was in the most conservative colors Steve had ever seen him wear.
“I love your tie,” Mimi said.
“My Christmas tie has little Santas on it,” Junior said. “I have one for Valentines Day with hearts and one for Halloween that has pumpkins.”
Mimi smiled at him. She was only about five years older than he was, and she exercised and was massaged and heat-wrapped and mud-bathed regularly. Junior smiled back at her and took a big mouthful of turkey.
Dusty began telling a long story about his Cadillac convertible, which he hinted had never been the same since Steve drove it. Steve did not want to argue because he didn’t want his parents to find out about the broken window and the crazy trip to the hospital. Sheldon’s hand still seemed stiff, but neither Rita nor Harold mentioned it.
“Could you pass the cranberry sauce, please?” Cindy asked Sheldon, pointing across the table.
Sheldon picked up the bowl with his bad hand, and his arm began to shake as the purple sauce neared Cindy. Steve reached across to grab Sheldon’s arm and the bowl overturned onto the tablecloth in front of Cindy, splattering her dress with juice.
“Steve did it,” Sheldon said. “It wasn’t me.”
“I’m sorry,” Steve said.
Cindy backed away. “I’ll just get cleaned up,” she said. Rita led her to the bathroom while Mimi wiped up the mess.
“Morty says your construction is really improving,” Sheryl said to Steve once the table had settled down again.
It took Steve a minute to remember who Morty was. After he had gotten his bail money back from Mrs. Blatnick, he’d tried to forget how Sheryl had hit the tree. “Oh, right, Morty,” he said. “Are you still seeing him?”
“I haven’t even had my trial yet,” Sheryl said. “They keep postponing it for some dumb reasons like evidence or something. I go over his office every couple of days and we hang out.”
Steve had been dealing directly with Morty’s aunt and uncle, Estelle and Joe, on the design and construction of the Fish ‘n’ Fashion store, so he hadn’t had much contact with Morty. “I haven’t really talked to Morty much,” he said. “Has he been out to the site a lot?”
Sheryl shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “He talks about a lot of stuff he doesn’t know about.”
“Is this that boy?” old Mrs. Blatnick asked.
“He’s not a boy, Grandma, he’s a man,” Sheryl said.
“Staying out all night with some boy,” Mrs. Blatnick said. “My girls never did that.”
Mimi came back in from the kitchen. “Are you staying out all night with a boy, Sheryl?” she asked. “I hope you’re being careful.”
“Yeah, I made sure he wasn’t queer or doing drugs,” Sheryl said. Harold choked on a piece of turkey and Dusty had to pound him on the back.
“Tramp,” Mrs. Blatnick said. “Tart.”
“Now mother,” Mimi said. “Sheryl is a grown woman who’s in charge of her own life and her own body.” She turned to Sheryl. “So, tell me all about him.”
“He’s a lawyer, mother,” Sheryl said. “I know that gives you hot flashes. Stevie introduced us.”
“Oh, Stevie, how sweet,” Mimi said.
Rita and Cindy came back into the dining room and Rita said, “What’s sweet?”
“Your son is pimping for my granddaughter,” old Mrs. Blatnick said.
“No one’s pimping for anyone,” Mimi said. “At least not during dinner.”
Harold choked again, and Dusty pounded on his back until Harold was red in the face. “Eat a little slower, Harry,” Dusty said. “The food’ll still be there.”
Steve stole a glance at Cindy. She was looking down at her plate, and when she looked up there was a pained smile pasted on her face.
After dinner everyone went into the living room. Dusty stood near the liquor cabinet and made drinks for himself, his brother and Harold, who was still having trouble clearing his throat. Mimi and Cindy were in the kitchen with Rita, helping clean up. Old Mrs. Blatnick dozed on an easy chair, and Richie was watching some kind of car race on TV with the volume turned down. Steve and Sheryl sat on the sofa. “So you’re still seeing Morty?” Steve asked.
Sheryl nodded. “He’s OK. He takes me to nice places. Sometimes. You know, we went out last week to this restaurant, and I ordered this Steak Tartare, and they forgot to bring me the tartar sauce! I had to make a big fuss to get some.”
Steve shook his head.
“And then sometimes we go to the movies,” Sheryl said. “A while ago, he took me to see this movie, ‘The Spy Who Couldn’t Keep A Secret.’ It was some kind of foreign movie and I didn’t really get it, but it made Morty really horny.”
Mimi came into the living room. “Steve, didn’t you take piano lessons?” she asked. “Your mother used to play so beautifully.”
“I did for a while,” Steve said. “Some people inherit talent-- I only inherited applause. My parents used to clap when I finished playing.”
“It was like hearing a cat tortured,” Harold said. He came in and made Steve move over on the sofa.
“What’s Wilma doing these days?” Steve asked. Wilma was the fourth Blatnick sibling, the only one who had not yet made an appearance in Miami. “Is she still involved with that cult?”
“They do very good work,” Mimi says. “She’s volunteering at a shelter they run for the homeless. What was it she said she did, Sheryl?”
“I think she teaches them exercises,” Sheryl said. ”You know, like Calisthenics for Bums and Aerobics for Bag Ladies.”
Sheldon and Dusty came into the living room too. Dusty was telling a story, which ended with “So Moses is up on Mount Sinai, holding the ten commandments, and the sky is flashing above him, like lightning, and he talks straight to the clouds. ‘Now let me get this straight,’ he says. ‘You want us to cut off the tips of our dicks?’”
Everyone laughed. Junior and the Blatnicks left a little while later, everyone complaining about being too full. ”You’re too good a cook, Rita,” Mimi said as they were walking out the door.
“Nobody ever said that about you, Mom,” Richie said from the hallway.
“Do you know what a zetz is, Richie?” Mimi said. “Because if you don’t you’re going to find out.”
She smacked his behind and he said, “Ow, Mom!” He started walking quickly down the hallway.
Mimi followed, hitting him again. “Talk about my cooking!” Steve heard her say. “You never starved!”
Steve closed the door. Cindy stood next to him, and he said, “So, this is what a family Thanksgiving is like. See what you’ve been missing all this time?”
“It’s certainly been an experience,” Cindy said.
15 - Peacemaker
Cindy spent Friday morning by the pool, coated with number 30 sunblock, reading interior decorating magazines. She was shopping for a new look for her tiny apartment, one that said 1990s working girl but didn’t cost a fortune. Steve had to go over to the site for a couple of hours, and brought back deli sandwiches. On the way home, he thought about Cindy.
While Cindy washed up, Steve took the sandwiches out to the screened terrace. He was just putting them on plates when she came out. “I got you roast beef on white with mayo,” he said. “Lettuce but no tomato, and a side of cole slaw. Plus a diet cherry Coke.”
“All my favorites,” Cindy said. “You know exactly what I like.”
They sat and ate facing the swamp, staring at the wide blue canopy of sky. Cindy narrated a long story about a meeting she had run at her office, ending with, “And then when she finally showed up, she wasn’t prepared.”
“That must have driven you crazy,” Steve said.
“Oh, absolutely,” Cindy said, “after I’d spent so much time helping her get her figures together.” She paused. “You know, I’m always amazed at how well we know each other. And yet now, I feel like there’s so much I don’t know about you.”
Steve shrugged. “There’s a lot I don’t know yet,” he said. “I do things without realizing why, just having a gut feeling, and then I understand.” He looked at the sky, where puffy clouds were passing overhead on rapid high winds, and then back at Cindy. “It’s like moving to Florida. I didn’t think it through, I just went on instinct. But now I can see how unhappy I was in New York, and how I needed a clean break.”
“From me, too?” Cindy asked.
Steve squirmed in his chair and played with his glasses. “It’s like you said, you don’t know me so well any more. I like you, Cindy, and I think we still have a lot in common. But I don’t think that I love you, not in the way that I think I should.”
Cindy was quiet for a while. “I can understand that,” she said. “I think we could work at this, if we were both willing, but being so far apart....” Her words trailed off. She stood up. “Well, I’m going to go back to the pool.”
Invasion of the Blatnicks Page 13