by Dee Ernst
She entered the house and could smell garlic. Good. She was starving. Maybe that was what was wrong with her.
“Hey, whatcha cooking? I’m famished.”
“Lemon chicken,” Emily called from the kitchen. “With noodles. There’s something here for you.”
Diane walked back to the kitchen. Emily was there, stirring something in a frying pan. Megan was diligently dipping chicken breasts into egg and bread crumbs.
“What are you talking about?” Diane asked, giving Megan a quick hug.
“Some guy dropped this off,” said Emily handing over a large manila envelope. Diane opened the clasp and emptied the contents onto the counter. There was a long white envelope and a number of white badges on black cords. She fumbled in her purse to find her glasses. She picked up a badge. Fleet Bank Arena Guest Pass. She turned it over. The NinetySeven logo. Double Dutch Tour.
“What is it?” Emily asked. “Did we win the lottery?”
“No.” Diane said in amazement. “Tickets to the concert, and back-stage passes.”
The girls both screamed. Megan grabbed the badge from Diane’s hand.
“Mom, how did this happen? Did you win the radio contest?”
“No.” Diane had opened the envelope. “I met Mickey Flynn in the park.” There were eight tickets inside, and a note on plain white paper. Emily read over her mother’s shoulder.
“Hey Diane, here are tickets and passes. Show your stubs to security and they will take you up to the VIP section. You should ask them to escort you back stage as well. Things get crazy after the show and I’d hate for you to be wandering around in all that madness. Michael.” Emily clutched the note in both hands. “Oh, Mom, eight tickets? Can I ask Allie? And Chloe? And Jordan?”
“You may each ask the Griffen girls and one other friend.” They both ran out of the kitchen, shrieking. “When you call Allie or Becca, I want to talk to Sue,” Diane called after them. She stood in her small, warm kitchen, smiling to herself, the black mood gone. She took a deep breath, pulled off her jacket and turned to the chicken, abandoned on the counter. He had done it.
She nodded her head to some unseen melody, sliding the chicken into the olive oil, checking to see if the large pot of water was boiling. She began the automatic motions of coming home – into the bedroom to take off her shoes, on to the den to dump her books and briefcase, then back to the kitchen. She checked her pots and pulled dishes from the cabinet.
There was a clamor at the front door – Alison Griffen and her sister Rebecca were calling, running upstairs. Moments later, Sue Griffen came into the kitchen. She was tiny, short and slender with wild dark curls shot with gray. She leaned her hip against the counter and picked up one of the badges.
“You got these tickets how?” she asked.
“I met Mickey Flynn in Bloomfield Park. Michael. His dog stole my pastrami sandwich. He felt bad and sent them over.”
“His dog stole your pastrami?” Sue echoed. “Holy shit. Are you kidding?”
Diane giggled. “No. It was hysterical. I was laughing so hard I almost peed my pants.”
There was more pounding of footsteps and all four girls crowded into the kitchen. Emily now had a serious look on her face.
“Mom, tell us everything that happened. You actually met him? Mickey?”
Diane turned down the heat under her dinner and took a breath. “Michael. I was having lunch in Bloomfield, over by the duck pond. He was there with his dog, which is huge, by the way, and the dog must have smelled my pastrami sandwich and raced over. I jumped up on the picnic table. The dog grabbed the sandwich from my hand. Michael was very sorry and offered the tickets as an apology. End of story.”
The girls were staring at her, open-mouthed.
“Oh, Mrs. Matthews,” Alison breathed. “Was he nice?”
“Yes, he was very nice. Charming.” Diane leaned close in to Alison. “He had charisma.”
Alison sighed and closed her eyes. “Charisma,” she repeated. Her eyes flew open. “What was he wearing?”
Sue rolled her eyes and started to speak, but Diane looked thoughtful.
“Well, he had on jeans, and a white polo shirt, you know, the kind with buttons at the neck?” The girls were all staring, nodding. “And black sneakers, and his hair was cut short, not a buzz cut or anything, but short, and he had some kind of string bracelet thing on, and a silver chain around his neck. And a very expensive watch.”
“Was he hot?” Alison asked.
“Allie!” Sue admonished.
Diane nodded. “Very hot.”
“Mom,” Emily sighed.
“What? He was hot. Not very tall, but adorable.” She leaned into Alison again. “Great butt.”
“Oh, Mrs. Matthews,” Alison breathed.
“Okay ladies,” Sue barked, “we’re outta here in ten. Make your phone calls.”
They swarmed out, all talking excitedly, and Sue raised her eyebrows.
“Great butt?”
Diane nodded. “Oh, yeah. His jeans weren’t tight or anything, but you could tell, you know?” Diane flashed a grin at her friend. “Nice arms, too.”
Sue looked at her closely. “You seem to have remembered this in great detail.”
“Hey, how often do I get to meet such a cute young guy?”
Sue looked at her sternly. “You teach at a college, Diane. Don’t you see cute young guys all the time? Like, in your class?”
Diane shook her head emphatically. “None of my students ever looked like him.”
Sue burst out laughing. “Oh God, you fell for him!”
Diane returned to the stove. “He was sweet. If I weren’t old enough to be his mother, I’d say yeah, I fell for him. So, want to come with me? Friday night? I am going to need help keeping these girls on a leash.”
“Sure, I’d love to go, but I think you need a date, maybe with a real man? When was the last time you saw a little action, anyway?”
“I had a perfectly nice dinner with a perfectly nice dentist a month ago and he never called back. You know I can never manage to get past a third date.” Diane glanced over her shoulder. “Please? We’ll get to go backstage.”
“Sure, I’ll go. I used to be quite the groupie.”
“I never was, but I figure I’m scoring big with my kids, especially Em. It’ll be nice to be the Mom that got her backstage, instead of the Mom who can’t do anything right.”
“I hear you there. You seem terribly pleased with the whole thing. You haven’t stopped smiling since I got here.”
“Because I didn’t expect him to come through with the tickets, and I’ve been kind of beating myself up all afternoon thinking he was going to flake out. It’s nice to meet somebody who does what they say they’re going to do.”
Sue moved closer and leaned back against the counter. “Did you have, like, a real conversation?”
“Yeah, we did. A lot of conversation.” She looked to make sure the girls were still upstairs. “We had lunch.”
“He bought you lunch? Wow. Where?”
“Chickies.”
Sue snorted. “Oh, you’re kidding!”
“He wanted to go to Weatherby’s, but I had class, and there was the dog. So we sat outside at Chickies. It was fun.”
“What a cool thing to happen. And now we can all stop listening to that god-damned radio station.” She stepped back into the hall. “Griffen kids, let’s go.” She yelled, then winked at Diane. “Way to go, kiddo.”
After Sue left, Diane finished making dinner, calling down her daughters. They set the table, noisy, happy. Emily actually gave her a hug and a thank you. The meal was eaten quickly, and the girls cleaned up as Diane went back into the den, laying out her books, getting ready for the work ahead for the night. Finals were coming up, and she had lots of prep work to do. She would have to call Kevin about the concert.
“Kev, hi, it’s me. How are things?”
“Good. Victoria is a little out of sorts, but that’s expected. What’s up?”
<
br /> “Believe it or not, we have tickets for the concert next Friday night.”
“Good Lord, Di, how did you manage that? Emily must be ecstatic.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, she is. Is it any problem?”
“Oh, of course not. Victoria will enjoy a quiet Friday evening. We may even go out. Are they around?”
“Sure. Hold on.” Diane called upstairs, waited to hear the upstairs line pick up, then sat down to work. She accomplished quite a bit, her mind very clear. The girls said goodnight at ten, and she settled herself into the couch and began proofreading the freshmen final. When the phone rang, she was startled. The girls’ friends knew not to call this late.
“Hello?”
“Hi. Is Diane there?”
She recognized his voice. “It’s me.”
“It’s Michael. Did you get everything okay? Dave said he sent a packet over.”
She sat up, feeling herself starting to smile again. “Yes, we got it. I can’t tell you how excited they are. You have scored major points here. Seriously. If there’s such a thing as the karma scale, you are way on the plus side. You can be miserable to the next ten people you meet, and you’ll still be ahead. Thank you again.”
He started laughing.“Is there really a karma scale?”
“Oh, I haven’t a clue. Maybe. But my daughters are grateful, and so am I.”
“So, about the concert,” Michael began, “you don’t have to worry about any crazy shit backstage. We’re pretty boring after a show, actually. We’re generally too tired for anything more than a chicken wing and a beer.”
“You’re sure you won’t mind us back there? I mean, these girls are going to ask for autographs and all that.”
“Sure, that’s fine. Look, it’s part of the game. We love it, all of us. Besides, all the guys will have people there, it’ll be fun.”
“Okay. I’ll see you then.”
“Yes, unless you’d like to have dinner.”
She felt suddenly off balance. “What do you mean, dinner?”
“Dinner. It’s a meal. With food, plates and silverware. Sound familiar?”
She smiled. “Isn’t that from a movie?”
“Probably. I’m usually not very glib. So, how about dinner? With me. Friday night?”
“Yes, that sounds great. No, wait. I have a meeting at six. I’m teaching a graduate class next year. I have to go, and it might run late.” She chewed her lip. “I could meet you somewhere?”
“Sure. How about Marcos, about eight?”
“I love Marco’s. But if I’m late, we’d lose the table.”
“Don’t worry. Friday then?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
And she hung up, thinking that maybe she had fallen for him after all.
She did not tell anyone she had a dinner date with him. The girls certainly did not need to know. Sue Griffen casually mentioned her seeing a movie Friday night, but she begged off, using her meeting as an excuse.
The meeting ran long. Marianne Thomas kept pushing the other faculty members from other issues to Diane’s problem, but it was a tough sell. When the room finally began to clear, Marianne sat by her friend as Diane began gathering her files into her briefcase.
“What the hell is wrong with these people?” Diane muttered to Marianne. “It’s Friday night, for God’s sake. Don’t they have anything better to do than argue about copy paper?”
“Of course not,” Marianne said mildly. ‘They’re academics. They don’t have a life. Why would they agree to a Friday evening meeting in the first place if they had someplace else to be? You, on the other hand, have got a hot date.”
Diane glanced at her friend. “And how can you tell that? Crystal ball?”
“You’re wearing a silk pantsuit on a Friday. You look fabulous in that color, and you know it, and your perfume is fresh. I don’t have fifty-two different degrees for nothing.”
“Fifty-two?”
“Whatever. Where are you going?”
“Out to dinner.”
“Anyone I know?”
“He’s a musician.”
“That’s interesting. What kind of places does he play?”
“Oh, you know. Arenas, stadiums,” Diane shrugged. “Madison Square Garden. I’m going to be late. See you Monday.”
“I want details,” Marianne called after her. “Serious details.”
She was late after all. It was after eight-thirty when she walked in to the restaurant. It was packed, as always on a Friday night, and the bar was full of patrons waiting for a table. She looked for Michael, but could not see him seated in the dining area. Her shoulders slumped. She fought her way to the front desk, where the maitre’d looked up expectantly.
“I’m late. I was meeting somebody.” She paused. Would he have made the reservation under Mickey Flynn? Maybe not. The maitre’d looked at her closely.
“Are you Diane?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered, surprised.
“Come,” he said courteously, and led her through the bar.
Michael was sitting toward the back of the restaurant, at a small, corner table, an older man sitting across from him. They stood up as she approached, and Michael took her arm, kissing her lightly on the cheek.
“Hello. Diane, this is my uncle, Marco Carlucci.”
Diane held out her hand with a smile. “Of course, I’ve often seen you here. I love your food.” She turned to Michael. “A Grammy may be a big deal where you come from, but holding a table at Marco’s on a Friday night? Now I’m impressed.”
Michael grinned and Marco bowed and kissed her hand. “That is the ultimate compliment. Please,” he held his chair for her and she sat down. “What would you like, my dear?”
Diane thought “Vodka martini please. Straight up, with an olive.”
Marco nodded graciously. “I’ll have it sent over. Michael usually trusts me with his meal, but would you like a menu?”
“No. I’ll take my chances. I’m sure I’m in good hands.”
“The best.” Marco bowed again and turned to Michael. “Tell Denise my Noelle will call her, yes?” Michael nodded, and Marco gave him a hug. “It was a pleasure meeting you. I’ll check in later,” he said graciously to Diane, then left.
Michael sat down and smiled at Diane. “You look great.” He was wearing jeans, a button-down blue shirt and a gray linen blazer. His eyes looked very blue.
Diane stared at him. She had tried not to think about him during the week, and she was struck with again how attractive he was, not just the strong lines of his face, but the energy and charm.
“Thanks,” she replied, faintly. “I’m sorry I’m late. I was afraid things would get hairy. Academics are a pain in the ass to deal with.” A drink was set down in front of her, and she murmured her thanks. She picked up her glass.
“What shall we drink to?” she asked.
Michael picked up his red wine. “How about being in good hands?”
They clinked glasses gently and she took a healthy gulp, feeling the vodka immediately take the edge off the vague, nervous feeling she had had all day.
She looked across the table at Michael. He was watching her, a faint smile on his lips. “So, you’re Italian?” she asked.
He sounded slightly defensive. “Yeah.”
“It’s just that I am too, and I know that whole only son Italian thing. How the hell did you talk your father into letting you sing in a band?”
He chuckled. “It was a tough sell, believe me. My sister Denise did the whole thing. That’s how she became our manager.”
“Okay, I’m confused. Your sister?”
“Sorry. I just assume sometimes – I mean –.” He looked flustered. “It’s just that there’s been so much stuff written, and I’ve given so many interviews, well, I’m usually not talking to somebody who doesn’t know my whole life story. That sounds really arrogant. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m just not used to having dinner with fam
ous personages.”
He blushed faintly. “I’m not a famous - .” He saw the look on her face. “Okay. So, are you going to bust me all night? Can’t we pretend I’m, say, a nice bus driver?”
“Like Ralph Kramden?” she asked.
“Who? No, wait, I know who he is. Okay, like Ralph Kramden.”
“Fine, but if somebody asks for an autograph, I may get suspicious.”
“Deal. So, what do you want to know? I’ll be happy to tell you everything.”
“I don’t think I’m ready for everything, but tell me about your sister and the band.”
“Okay. Denise is twelve years older than me. She’s my middle sister, and the last to get married. She stayed home and took care of me and my Dad. My father was getting crazy, kept asking her why she wasn’t married – well, you’re Italian, you know – then one day she comes in with this guy, Dave Adamson, and says they’re in love and want to get engaged. Well, my Dad is happy because Dave is an electrical engineer, and he’ll always have a job, right?”
“Right - the first priority for an Italian father. The guy may have one eye and sleep with his sister, but as long as he’s gainfully employed, he’s a keeper.”
“Exactly. So, right after this, Dad goes off on some business trip, Denise invites Dave over and I find out the real story. Dave was managing his brother Joey’s band on the side, and what he really wanted was the band to be successful enough to quit his day job. Now, Dave had been telling Denise that the band was great, terrific potential, all that shit, but they needed a second vocalist and maybe a keyboard player. So Denise drags him over to our piano and makes me sit down and play for him. I’d been playing the piano for years, and I was really into the whole thing, writing and all sorts of shit, plus I
played guitar and I’d been singing forever. Dave thinks she’s crazy, till he hears me. So he calls Joey, Joey comes over with Seth, and we are just going to town. I mean, Joey’s a big R&B fan, and so am I, and we were kicking serious ass. So Dave figures I’d fit right in.”
“Wait a minute. What about the whole geek thing?”
“That was a problem. I was fifteen, but I looked about twelve. I was still really short, skinny, I wore glasses. It was awful.”