Lucky Leonardo
Page 21
Later on, as the crowd filed out, in good spirits like their team had come back in the late innings to snatch victory from defeat, Helen found Lenny, still in his back row seat, still beaming. “Lenny,” she said.
“Helen, you were great…”
“Lenny, I have amazing news. I’ve been discovered.”
“What?”
“A guy here today, the deceased’s uncle, is very big in New York funerals. He liked me. He offered me a gig at the best funeral parlor in Manhattan…”
“Wow.”
“With a bonus, and benefits, and a chance to run my own show…”
“When?”
“As soon as I can get there. What do you think? Should I take it?”
“Of course you should, Helen. It’s your lucky break.”
“It really is.”
“What about Mary Ellen?”
“She’ll come with me.”
“Fabulous.”
“Will you miss me?”
“Sweetheart, you know I’ll miss you.”
Helen scurried off. There was a whole second act to be performed, graveside. As she turned the corner, Lenny heard a familiar voice behind him.
“How’ve you been, Lenny?” Barbara asked.
He looked back. His heart, for reasons no more clear to him now than ever before, skipped a beat, a big beat, the kind of beat that gets middle-aged men running, or at least walking with controlled quickness, to the cardiologist.
“Not bad,” he said. “What brings you here?”
“Marge and I were in the same women’s support group.”
“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. She offered good support. She’ll be hard to replace.”
“I bet.”
“And you? What brings you here?”
“I like funerals.”
“Oh. And the girl?” Barbara asked, with a nod in the direction of the departed Helen.
“Just a friend.”
“A friend?”
“A friend who’s leaving town.”
Barbara moved closer, within arm’s length, and looked directly into Lenny’s eyes. “Lenny,” she said in a low voice, “I could use a friend.”
“Oh?”
“Like you.”
“Oh?”
“Do you want to try again?”
“OK.”
About the Author
Jonathan Canter shares an empty nest on the outskirts of Boston with his lovely wife and their aging cocker spaniel. In between bouts with his fiction muse he practices and teaches employment law, snoops around the neighborhood with his dog, and watches the Red Sox on television. In a prior life he was an editor of The Harvard Lampoon, which may explain his sense of humor.