The Coach House

by Florence Osmund

  It was a cold February morning, and while Richard worked in his home office, Marie had taken a long hot bubble bath before getting dressed for their trip to Crown Point, Indiana where they were to be married. She stepped out of the bathtub into the cool air, grabbed her favorite chenille robe, and wrapped it around her wet body. Excited about the day and feeling playful, she tiptoed down the hall with the intention of surprising her husband-to-be with a seductive embrace. His office door was cracked open, and when she realized he was on the phone, she waited.

  “I like what it does to my commission,” he said to the person on the other end. After several seconds of silence, he said, “How do you live with yourself, man?” He paused again. “That’s all that matters to me. Let me think about how I can pull this off, and I’ll get back to you.” A few more seconds of silence. “Ha! Yeah, me, too.”

  Before Marie reached the door, he emerged. The warmth evaporated from his face as it turned red, his eyes full of fire. His fists went into a fast clench. “For chrissake, Marie! What are you doing? Eavesdropping?” he barked at her, his voice reverberating off the wall like an echo.

  Marie’s mouth fell open, her body deflating like a pierced balloon. She stood there, not saying a word, feeling the blood gradually drain from her face.

  Then, as quickly as it had appeared, his anger diffused. He raked his fingers through his hair and let out a huge sigh. “I’m sorry. Come here.” He put his arms around her. “You startled me, and I reacted like a jerk.” His unyielding arms held her tight. “I’m sorry.”

  She pushed herself out of the hug, walked to the bathroom, and closed the door, the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach slowly tearing her apart.

  Richard followed her. “Honey, I said I was sorry,” he said through the door. “I was on an important call, and remember, I’m not used to having someone else in the house.” He waited for a response. “Can I come in?”

  Marie sat on the edge of the bathtub while she decided which voice to trust—the one in her head or the one in her heart. What’s wrong with him? And on our wedding day?

  After a minute, she emerged from the bathroom and said in a calm, deliberate voice, “What on earth could you have been talking about that would cause you to react that way? And so what if I overheard you? What difference would that make? Help me understand this.” She met his eyes. Suddenly he looked like a complete stranger to her.

  “I was talking to Andrew, my contact for iron lungs. It was just business.” She glared at him while she waited for more of an explanation. “They’re coming out with a new model that he thought I may be interested in for Fiefield. It’s a huge order, sweetheart. I got a little tense.”

  Something in his tone of voice stirred suspicion. “A little tense?” she mocked.

  “Look, when it comes to work, I get crazy. I don’t know what comes over me. I see now I’ll have to do better at controlling myself.”

  “I thought you told me the iron lungs were already ordered.”

  “I’m thinking about making a change to the newer models. It means a bigger commission. Look, it’s just business.” It was painfully clear he was being evasive. “Nothing you have to worry about.”

  She took a step back. “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Shut me out when you don’t want to talk about something.”

  “I didn’t realize I was shutting you out. We can talk about it further if you want, but I don’t think it’s the right conversation to have on our wedding day,” he said with a weak smile. “I can think of a hundred other things I would rather talk about.” He stepped in closer and took her hand. “Come here, love.” They sat close to each other on the bed. He looked seriously into her eyes. “Let’s not start out our life together with an argument. Can we agree on that?”

  Marie was aware there would be many adjustments they would both have to make, and if they weren’t any worse than this, maybe it wasn’t that bad.

  When he had finished with his shower that morning, Richard entered the kitchen in his robe, took her into his arms, and started to dance. He hummed along.

  Let me live ‘neath your spell.

  Do do that voodoo that you do so well

  For you do something to me

  That nobody else can do.

  Her face buried in his chest, Marie smiled and asked, “Are you excited about today?”

  “Since we met, I get excited about every day,” he whispered. She pulled her head away from him to look at his face, at that winning smile. It was hard to believe that smile came from the same man who had lashed out at her so viciously just hours earlier.

  “Are we okay?” he asked, running his hands up and down her back. She nodded, wondering if his knack for apologizing was born out of considerable experience.

  * * *

  That incident was almost a year ago. Marie and Richard were now sitting in their living room reliving their skiing experience in Aspen from the previous month and talking about how they would spend their one-year anniversary when the phone rang. Richard got up and answered it in the kitchen on the third ring.

  “Who was that, hon?”

  “Andrew.”

  “You sounded surprised at whatever he was saying. What did he want?”

  “You know who Al Capone is?”

  “Doesn’t everybody?”

  “Well, he died today.”

  “Isn’t he still in prison? What, was he murdered by another inmate?”

  “No, that’s the surprising part. Yes, he’s still in prison. He died of syphilis.”

  “How nice,” she said through a grimace. “Why would Andrew call you about Al Capone?”

  “Oh, that had nothing to do with the call. Just an interesting tidbit of information he threw in. The call was about one of the orders for Fiefield.”

  “Richard, why do you always lower your voice when he calls you? Like there’s something secretive going on.”

  “I lowered my voice because I didn’t want to disturb you.” He pulled her in for a kiss. “I was just thinking of you. That’s all, hon.” Marie smiled a curl of a smile and left the room.

  Marie didn’t know that much about Capone, only that he had operated casinos and speakeasies during prohibition. He was associated with the Chicago Outfit, the city’s most notorious gang, until his fall from power sometime in the thirties when he was imprisoned at Alcatraz for tax evasion. She wondered how Andrew had heard about his death, since she hadn’t seen anything about it in the morning newspaper.

  They decided on the Cape Cod Room to celebrate their wedding anniversary, the same place in which they had dined after their brief wedding ceremony. Marie bought a new Gordon Shannonhouse black crepe dress for the occasion, its deep V neckline and double shoulder straps the height of post-war fashion.

  Richard called ahead and arranged for special treatment—a private room, champagne waiting for them when they arrived, a dozen red roses, chateaubriand for two, and all the trimmings. Toward the end of the meal, he pulled out a small blue box and handed it to Marie. She recognized it from Tiffany’s. Inside was a heart-shaped diamond pendant set in platinum on a fine rope chain. He walked in back of her and fastened it around her neck.

  He sat back down and took her hands in his, gently rubbing her knuckles with his thumbs. He gave her a seductive wink. “You know, when I first laid eyes on you, I thought you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.” He looked deeper into her eyes. “But it doesn’t compare to how stunning you look tonight.”

  She touched the necklace. “It’s gorgeous, Richard. Thank you.”

  It was after midnight when they arrived home. “Come with me, Mr. Marchetti,” Marie said while she coaxed him up the stairs. “Your present is up here.”

  He grabbed her waist from behind and patted her behind. “All right!”

  “Not that, Romeo. It’s in here.” She led him into his office. There behind his desk was a new high-back desk chair upholstered in the finest brown full grain lea
ther. She’d had had it custom made for him.

  He eased down in it and softly whistled as he caressed the upholstered arms. “Come here you saucy little wench.” She sat sideways on his lap, raised her eyes to meet his, and kissed him, relaxing into the warmth of his touch. He held her in his arms, then stood up and retreated into the bedroom. “Now for dessert!”

  * * *

  In their second year of marriage, Marie and Richard enjoyed many of the same things they had enjoyed during courtship, one of them being cooking together. Richard was the real cook. Marie just followed directions.

  “Should we make lasagna tonight?” Richard asked one afternoon.

  “Sounds great,” Marie responded. “It’ll bring back memories.” That had been the first meal they had cooked together at his apartment while they were dating.

  Richard walked into the living room with a glass of wine for each of them. “That day was one I would love to relive, Mrs. Marchetti.” He bent down to kiss her.

  “That was the day you had my car fixed while I was at work. You were pretty gallant back then, Mr. Marchetti.”

  “And I’m not now?” he teased.

  “I’ll let you know after dinner,” she teased back. She climbed the stairs to their bedroom to change clothes while he got things started in the kitchen. She emerged a few minutes later in a blue silky dress, the same one she had worn on the first day they met, and the same one she had worn to his apartment a few months later when they cooked lasagna together.

  Richard looked at her and smiled a smile that went straight to her heart. “Get your pretty behind over here.” He scooped her up in his arms and gave her a strong hug. “I am defenseless against that dress!” He kissed her passionately. “Just defenseless.”

  They spent the next two hours cooking, he guiding her as to what to do next…as usual. He cooked from memory and instinctive know-how. She needed a cookbook to boil water.

  Marie studied his physique while he stood in front of the stove, his broad shoulders narrowing down to a tight waist. He had pushed up his sleeves, revealing his strong forearms. The hem of his sweater rested gently on the top of his narrow hips with one side slightly askew. He hummed as he stirred the sauce. She remembered the first time she had looked at him in that way; the gentle strength about him arousing.

  As they constructed the layers of lasagna from noodles, sauce, bescia-mella, pieces of mozzarella, and grated Grana Padano, Harry James sang “It’s Been A Long, Long Time” in the background. The aroma of the baking lasagna gradually filled the air. They sat close to one another on the sofa while dinner cooked.

  Kiss me once, then kiss me twice

  Then kiss me once again

  It’s been a long, long time

  Haven’t felt like this, my dear

  Since I can’t remember when

  It’s been a long, long time

  “Hold that thought.” She dashed upstairs to where she kept a memory box. She retrieved the dried purple daisy he had stolen from his next-door neighbor’s yard the first time they had cooked together.

  She looked around the office, distracted by her recollection of how impressed she had been when she first saw these furnishings in his apartment: the antique roll-top desk; bookcases with leaded glass doors; and the Tchelitchew painting of peasant girls that had been a gift from the Rosas.

  She noticed a book awkwardly tucked behind a box of envelopes. Of Human Bondage, the book she and his father had discussed the first time she met his family. Well, that’s interesting. For some reason he felt compelled to read this book. She wondered why. At the time, he seemed abhorrently disinterested in her discussion with his father. She wondered if it bothered him that his father, for whom he displayed so little homage, had done something impressive, something he hadn’t done. The idea worried her.

  Marie shook off her thoughts, raced down the stairs, and sat next to her husband. “I saved this,” she said with a blissful smile, showing him the flower. “Do you remember what you confessed to me that night?”

  He shook his head.

  “I asked you to tell me everything about yourself…warts and all, and you said I already knew the important stuff.”

  “And you asked me to tell you the unimportant stuff, like that I don’t always remember to put the toilet seat down, and you told me that was important.”

  Marie laughed. “You’re doing well on that one by the way, but draping the wet dish rag over the kitchen faucet…”

  “That’s a wart?”

  “That’s a wart.”

  Marie headed to the kitchen to start preparing the salad when the ringing phone caused her to stop midway in the hall.

  “Hello.” There was a minute of silence before Richard said in a low voice, “I can’t talk right now.” And then he hung up the phone.

  “Who was that, hon?”

  “Nobody important. I’m going to check on the lasagna. Is the salad ready?”

  “You know when you do that, it only makes me suspicious.”

  Richard looked her right in the eye. “There’s nothing to be suspicious about, Marie. It was Jack Clancy from work. He’s trying to hone in on my Fiefield project in the worst way. Now the bastard’s calling me at home, and I don’t appreciate it. Alright?” He knew she didn’t like it when he used foul language. She didn’t respond.

  They ate in the dining room on the massive cherry table Richard had had in his bachelor days. Six chairs fit around it comfortably, and two others flanked each side of the buffet. He lit candles and poured each of them a glass of wine. Harry James warbled in the background.

  Imagine me with my head on your shoulder

  And you with your lips getting bolder

  A sky full of moon and a sweet mellow tune

  I’ll buy that dream

  “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m sorry.”

  “I know.”

  A honeymoon in Cairo, in a brand new autogyro

  Then off to Rio for a drink

  We’ll settle down in Dallas

  In a little plastic palace

  Oh it’s not as crazy as you think

  He walked over to her and hugged her. Marie heaved an audible sigh.

  “Was that a good sigh or a bad one?”

  “A little of both I think,” she admitted.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know.”

  They separated, and Marie retreated to the living room. Richard stayed in the kitchen. She heard the side door slam shut and then silence. A minute passed. Still no noise from the kitchen. She waited another whole minute. What is he doing?

  Richard emerged through the front door. He had a flower in his hand. He leaned over his wife and put it in her hair, and then kissed her nose. “You look beautiful tonight.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “Richard, you have GOT to stop stealing the neighbor’s flowers.”

  As they tidied up the kitchen together, Richard purposely brushed up against her every chance he could, trying to reenact their first lasagna dinner from a year earlier. Marie played the game by quickly stepping out of his way each time to avoid his contact, the bottom of her silky dress swishing around her legs with every step.

  “You realize it was that kind of movement that caught my eye the first time I laid eyes on you.” They laughed and retreated to the living room, sitting down next to each other on the sofa. He put his arm around her and massaged her neck with his strong fingers. She leaned back into his arm and turned her head until her eyes met his. She loved moments like this. She pictured them a few years forward doing the same thing while a baby cooed in a bassinet nearby. “I love you, Mr. Marchetti.”

  “I love you, too.” The phone rang, again interrupting them. “I’m not going to answer it.”

  After ten rings, Marie started to get up to answer the phone.

  “Just leave it ring. It’s probably something related to work, and they need to stop calling me in the evening.”

  Marie got up. “Or it could be for me,” she
said dryly.

  “Hello?”

  Richard sat on the edge of the sofa while Marie concentrated on what the caller had to say. “He can’t come to the phone right now. Can I give him a message?”

  She stared at Richard. “Okay. I’ll tell him.” She hung up the phone.

  Marie’s heart sank. One minute Richard could be so benevolent, and the next minute someone was calling him about a notorious mobster’s funeral arrangements. “Capone’s funeral is on Friday at one,” she said. Richard’s face showed no reaction. She headed towards the stairs. “Have a nice evening.”

  She felt flat, emotionless, as she climbed into bed. She knew if she had confronted Richard on why someone would call him about Capone’s funeral, he would come up with a semi-believable explanation, and then it would create distance between them. As a newlywed, distance was the last thing she wanted between them. She wanted each and every day to bring them closer together, closer to being a family.

  CHAPTER 6

  Courtship and Marriage

  Shortly after their one-year anniversary, looking back at their whirlwind courtship, Marie wondered more than once if she should have given the relationship more time to evolve before getting married. They had met in September, and by early December, they were making plans to spend their first night together. The Rosas, who closed their restaurant on many of the holidays for entertaining family and close friends, had invited them to their Christmas Eve dinner party.

  “How would you feel about spending the night together on Christmas Eve?” he had asked. “You could have my bed, and I could sleep on the sofa.”

  She accepted his offer, but as the evening grew nearer, the more nervous she became. She wanted to go with her heart, but her head kept tugging her in the other direction.