by Thomas Kies
I growled, “Down low, my ass.”
Frank rubbed his forehead and glanced around, wishing the waiter would come back with his drink.
“So how is Evelyn?” I asked icily.
Frank scowled. “The morning after all that unpleasantness happened at the Z Bar, Evelyn told me she wanted a divorce.”
I don’t mind telling you that for a brief moment, I felt a hot flash of euphoria. “I hope I don’t sound too unsympathetic, but isn’t that what you and I’ve been talking about for the past two years?”
“Predicated upon my first acquiring custody of the children. Evelyn threatened to take them away from me. The children, both of the houses, the cars, and all of our investments. She said that if I ever saw you again she’d take it all.”
“And yet here you are.”
Before Frank could respond, the waiter placed our drinks on the table and asked if we were ready to order. We’d been there enough times that neither of us needed to consult the menu. Frank ordered the seared tuna and I ordered a Caesar salad.
When we were alone again, Frank held his glass in the air. “Cheers.”
I picked up my glass and held it to his. “Cheers,” I repeated, taking a sip. “So are you saying that Evelyn doesn’t want a divorce now? Everything’s good at home?”
Frank took a deep drink from his martini. “You know that it’s never good at home. But, no, she doesn’t want a divorce.”
“What changed her mind?”
“An apology and a new BMW.”
I shrugged. “So what are you going to do?”
His eyes looked misty and he seemed genuinely sad. He was very good at that. “Well, I know that I can’t walk away from you.”
“And you can’t leave your wife.”
“Are things really so bad?”
“The way they are? You mean right now?” My voice rose angrily.
He took a breath. “Except for the last month, we manage to see each other a couple of times a week. We have nice dinners together, we have nice lunches. We go to shows together, see movies. I think the sex is, well, pretty damned fantastic. We have a warm, fun, open, wonderful relationship. Our interests are alike; our politics are the same and I love being with you. How many married couples can say that?”
In reality, the fact that Frank Mancini was married wasn’t necessarily a liability. Would I like the freedom to see him when I wanted? Sure. But I also liked the “alone” time that I had. I wasn’t ready to share my life with someone right now, so I tacitly agreed to share him with his wife.
And honestly, the fact that he was married? That we were committing adultery? Always worried that we might be “found out”? In a twisted way, that made him all the more appealing to me.
He reached over and softly touched my hand. “So after lunch, are you busy?”
“I have to finish the Jimmy Fitzgerald story.”
He squeezed my hand. “Do you have time for dessert?”
Sexual tension suddenly raised my body temperature by about ten degrees. He wasn’t talking about splitting a chocolate mousse. Frank was asking me if I was in the mood to go back to my apartment and slip inside my queen-sized bed.
Now, I’m not some teenager whose hormones are constantly boiling over. No matter how hard I lean against it, I can feel my age trying to squeeze its way through the biological door. Let’s face it, my interest in sex isn’t what it used to be when I was in college or even in my early thirties.
It had been over a month since I’d last been with Frank.
Or anybody else for that matter.
And he wasn’t lying when he said the sex was fantastic. His desserts were fun.
And calorie-free.
But I answered, “I really have to get this story done.” And having forgotten that I had agreed to cover the fundraiser, I asked, “How about we get together later tonight?”
His face took on a pained expression. “I wish I could. I have a black-tie thing I’m attending tonight. The Fairfield County Bar Association is raising money for some charity.”
My spirits rose. “Hey, what a coincidence! As it turns out, I have to cover that very same event tonight. Want to be my date?”
Frank’s hand was on mine and I could feel his palm start to sweat. He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he explained, apologetically, “Um, I have to take Evelyn.”
“Have to take Evelyn?” I snarled. “Someone got a gun to your head?”
“Everybody at our table’s bringing their wives.”
Lunch came just in time for the waiter to hear me growl, “I wouldn’t expect dessert from me now or anytime in the near future. How about if you want dessert, you give your wife a big slice of apple pie and a freakin’ can of Reddi-wip on top of her new BMW?”
***
Later that afternoon, I called Kevin Bell.
I asked him to be my date.
And to my delight, he said yes. He may have hesitated and stammered a little, but he finally said yes.
Chapter Five
Kevin’s address was an oxymoron.
He lived on the corner of Providence Avenue and Random Road. As I drove up his driveway, I wondered if this might be the universal nexus where fate meets chance. Where God’s grand plan is really only a roll of the dice? A place where design rises from chaos?
Once I got a look at Kevin’s house, I decided it was all the above.
Kevin’s modest two-story home was in a blue-collar neighborhood about five blocks from the harbor. Most of the houses were Cape Cods built forty years ago, when houses and land were still within the price range of the average Joe. Situated on tiny, well-tended yards, the homes were neat. Many owners had obviously added rooms over garages or constructed decks jutting out onto their back lawns. Because property was at a premium, the best way to add value to a home was by building up or out.
Almost every driveway hosted at least two cars as well as a small powerboat parked on a trailer. Slip rentals in this part of Connecticut are incredibly expensive. For the people who lived in Kevin’s neighborhood, boats are affordable. Places in the water to keep them are not.
Finding his house, I pulled up behind a faded red Ford pickup truck with the words Kevin Bell Construction stenciled onto the side doors. There were sawhorses in the truck bed. Scarred by a dozen dings, dents, and multi-colored scrapes, the vehicle may not have been plagued by age but certainly had been cursed by misused mileage.
I noticed that Kevin did not have a boat in his driveway.
Getting out of my car, I could easily see that Kevin’s property was out of sync with the neighborhood. His scruffy-looking lawn, losing its fight with thick patches of weeds, was about two weeks overdue for a trim. Behind his house, I saw a six-foot wooden fence encircling a yard filled with tall stacks of lumber and multiple piles of gravel. My guess was that Kevin wasn’t going to get the “good neighbor” award.
When have I ever picked up a guy at his house to take him out on a date?
Earlier that afternoon, Kevin had balked when I’d asked if he wanted to accompany me to the Lawyer’s Ball. “I appreciate the offer. I really do. I’d love to see you again. But how about we just go out for pizza?”
“I have to cover this black-tie thing tonight,” I explained. “I’ve got two tickets…free tickets. C’mon. Be my date.”
He sighed. “I don’t own a tux.”
“It’s black tie optional,” I replied. “A suit and tie will be just fine.”
“I don’t know, Genie. I’m thinking I might feel a little out of place.”
“Aw c’mon, Kevin. It’ll give us a chance to catch up,” I gently argued. “And I don’t want to go alone.”
I could almost hear the gears in his head grinding away and then, finally, he slowly replied, “Okay, um, just one thing. Would you mind driving?”
That ha
d taken me completely by surprise. “Car trouble?”
“Something like that. What time you want to come by?”
I shrugged as I talked into the phone. “I don’t know. Cocktails at six, pick you up about a quarter to?”
Just as soon as I’d said the word cocktails, a picture of him at an AA meeting flashed in front of my eyes. “Not that we have to drink anything,” I mumbled.
Sometimes I can be such a dope.
As I walked up the front steps and rang the bell, I shook my head at my stupidity.
A young girl, about thirteen, answered the door. Wearing jeans and a short-sleeved shirt emblazoned with the UConn Huskies logo, she was thin, had long blond hair, deep blue eyes, and a pretty smile. “Hi, you must be Miss Chase.”
As I came in I told her, “You can call me Genie,” and I shook her hand.
“I’m Caroline. Dad’s almost ready. He’ll be down in a minute. Can I get you a cup of coffee, soda, maybe a glass of water?”
“Glass of water would be great.” While the young girl disappeared into the kitchen, I wondered where her mother might be. I had assumed that Kevin was single when he’d called and asked me out for a cup of coffee. And now, a little late in the game, I silently hoped that I was right. Dating one married man was okay. Two would be overkill.
I followed Caroline into the kitchen and stopped cold in my tracks.
The room looked like a bomb had gone off.
All the cabinet doors were missing. Plates, bowls, glasses, cans of food, cereal boxes, and spice containers were all on display.
Then my eyes fell to the countertops. Half of them were gone as well. Upon further inspection, I saw that most of the ceiling tiles had been removed and the beams were showing, along with copper pipes and electrical wiring.
Caroline handed me my glass of water. Still looking around, I quietly asked, “So, what’s your dad do for a living, honey?”
She blushed. “He’s a contractor.”
I’m no expert, but it looked to me that the kitchen had been like this for a while. “Doing a little remodeling?”
She looked around her and shrugged. “Dad started this before Mom died. He was remodeling the whole house. I’ve seen the drawings he made of what it all should look like. When he gets it finished, it’s gonna be beautiful. But after Mom passed away, I think maybe he lost interest a little.”
Her mom was dead…Kevin’s wife.
I took a sip of my water. I didn’t know what to say.
Then I heard Kevin coming down the stairs. “Did I hear the doorbell?” he shouted.
When he came through the doorway and saw me standing in the kitchen, he glanced around the room as if he was seeing it for the first time and said, clearly embarrassed, “Um, sorry about the mess.”
I quickly put my glass down on the kitchen table and hugged him. I held him close. I hadn’t seen him since high school where, up until graduation, we’d been best buds. I suddenly realized how much I’d missed him He put his arms around me and I could feel his strength through his suit coat, his muscles solid from hard work. He smelled nice, like soap and aftershave, Old Spice maybe.
I pulled back a little. “How long has it been?”
He grinned and thought a moment. His face had a world-weary look to it, but he had a warm smile. “I don’t know. Twenty years?”
“Yeah,” I put the flat of my hand against his chest. “You look great.”
“You too.” His smile got brighter.
I glanced over at Caroline leaning against the refrigerator, hands in her pockets, watching us with a bemused look on her face. “And you have a beautiful daughter.”
“I had help.” His smile faltered for a brief moment. “Look, I’m sorry that I had to ask you to drive. That’s a little embarrassing.”
“Is your car in the shop?” I recalled the truck in the driveway.
Caroline balled up her fist and coughed into it, saying at the same time, “Restrictions.”
When I looked over at her, she had an odd smile on her face.
Kevin nodded. “Restrictions. When did you get back into town?”
“About four months ago.”
“Ah, well, about a month before you got here, there was a major power outage that affected over a quarter of the city.”
“Yeah? I remember that, Valentine’s Day, wasn’t it? I was in town visiting a friend.” What I didn’t tell him was that I was in a hotel having dessert—okay, sex in a king-size bed with Frank Mancini that afternoon. “I heard some guy ran his car into a pole knocking out a power transformer. Shut down a whole power grid.”
“That’s my Dad,” Caroline announced, patting him on the shoulder. She kissed him on the cheek and walked out of the kitchen.
He raised his hands. “My fifteen minutes of fame. Over ten thousand people didn’t get their power back on until sometime after midnight. I was the most hated man in Sheffield. And, yeah, it was on Valentine’s Day.”
The memory of that day was quite vivid. I’d been working at a magazine in New York and taking the train into Sheffield once or twice a week to see Frank. We were snuggled up at the Doubletree when the lights went out. It didn’t bother us, of course, because what we were doing required no illumination.
I remember being annoyed, however, not because of the power outage, but because Frank was taking Evelyn out to a Valentine’s dinner later that night.
On that particular evening, while he and his wife were having lobster and champagne in New Canaan, I was on my way back to New York via Metro-North, eating a cold slice of pizza and drinking vodka from a thermos.
“So, after five months your car is still in the shop?”
“Ah, well,” he explained, “the car is completely gone. It was totaled.”
“Didn’t want to replace it?”
“No point. The accident was clearly my fault. I was impaired. The judge gave me a fine and put me on probation and driving restrictions. I can only drive to get back and forth from work and during daylight hours. I was lucky he didn’t take away my license completely or throw me in jail. There are a lot of people in town who think I got off way too easy. Somebody told me that my neighbors had considered getting together for a barbeque and a lynching.”
“Yikes. How long before you can drive like a grown-up?”
“Seven more months. I can petition the court for my driving privileges again next February.”
“So it was Valentine’s Day. Were you on a date?”
He shook his head and chewed at his lower lip. “It was the first anniversary of Joanna’s death.”
I reached out and delicately touched his arm. “Your wife?”
He nodded, eyes lowered. “It was breast cancer. I’d spent the whole afternoon in a dark bar, alone, trying to drown her memory in a bottle of scotch. It was stupid.”
“And that’s why you’re in AA.”
He pointed at me.
My heart ached for my old friend and I took his hand. “So you want to be my date tonight or what?”
He looked into my eyes and smiled. “Yes, that would be nice.”
***
“So, have you had a good life?”
When Kevin posed that question, he was staring idly out the passenger’s side window of my car. He was trying to fill an embarrassing lull in the conversation.
“Good…yeah.” My simple answer to a simple question. But then I went on, because I was nervous and when I’m nervous, I never know when to shut up. “Well, for the most part it’s been pretty good. The journalism thing’s interesting. You’re never going to make a ton of money.”
“Did you ever get married?”
I hesitated but then decided to be honest. “Yeah, three times.”
He turned to give me an odd, inquisitive look. “I’m sorry, how many times did you say you’ve been married?” He co
uldn’t believe what he’d heard.
I winced and held up three fingers. “It’s one less than Hemingway.”
“Married now?”
I shook my head. “No, but the guy I’m kind of seeing is.”
God, don’t you know when to shut up?
It was Kevin’s turn to wince. He turned back toward the window and gazed out at the landscape as it whizzed by.
“Disappointed?” I started fiddling with the air conditioning.
He shrugged. “I always thought that if you weren’t going to marry me, you’d end up with a novelist or a real estate tycoon.”
I frowned and smiled at the same time. “You thought we were going to get married?”
It was his turn to smile. “I had a crush on you when we were in high school.”
“You never showed it.” I clearly felt myself blushing.
“So you were really married three times?” He changed the subject. “What do you have, like ADD?”
“I got married straight out of college but it only lasted about a year. I caught him in our bed with another woman.”
Kevin cleared his throat and muttered, “Sorry.”
“Husband number two was the city manager for Coudersport, a town just outside of Boston. He was arrested for taking kickbacks and bribes from city contractors. I was working for The Boston Globe at the time. I’m the one who broke the story. Blew the whistle on my own husband. He filed for divorce during the trial.”
Kevin was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, I can see how that might sour a relationship.”
“Husband number three was a homicide cop in New York. He died about five years ago, killed in the line of duty.”
“Oh, my God! I’m so sorry.”
“Sal was a good cop but he liked to drink. He could put me under the table and that’s saying a lot. His partner told me that Sal had been drinking before he’d gone on duty. He put himself at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
We both went silent. I pulled onto Gregory Boulevard and headed toward the harbor. We were only a couple of blocks from the Shorefront Club.
“Kids?” he asked.
“What?”