‘Is that the way you see it – hectic?’
‘Spend a day at Stonefield’s garage and then tell me,’ he replied. ‘Come by anytime.’
He had that impish gleam in his eyes she had seen many times, but not until recently directed her way. She thought about the comments her mother had made about him and his father perhaps pressuring him to work in their business.
‘Don’t you enjoy it? Your work, your business? I mean, you’re doing what you want to do, right?’
‘It’s exciting to see how much we’ve grown over the last four years and how we could continue. Dad’s talking about opening a dealership in Monticello – a fourth brand. Foreign cars,’ he said and then, in a whisper almost as if it was profanity, he leaned toward her and added, ‘Volkswagen.’
‘Did you always expect to be working in your family business?’
‘I flirted with doing something else. I was thinking of becoming an air force pilot. I was always fascinated by how the RAF stopped the Nazis during the Second World War. Never was so much owed by so many to so few,’ he recited in his best Winston Churchill imitation. She laughed.
‘Not bad,’ she said.
He nodded and smiled. ‘I actually took some flying lessons. Secretly,’ he said. ‘But in the end I decided I was a home boy. I haven’t even been to New York City that many times. We take a Florida vacation every year, but other than that …’
‘You still go with your parents?’
She didn’t mean to sound disapproving, but his restricted experiences, self-imposed or not, surprised her.
He blushed. ‘To please my mother, but I haven’t gone anywhere with them for quite a while, actually.’
‘You don’t have the travel bug?’
He shrugged. ‘I guess I should, working with cars. I do plan to drive cross-country one of these days. I don’t mean in a day. I mean …’
‘I understand. Like Route 66. I bet a lot of guys did it after they watched the television show.’
‘We do sell Corvettes,’ he said, smiling. ‘Let me know when you’re ready. We’ll leave an hour afterward.’
Now she was the one who blushed.
The restaurant loomed ahead.
‘I’d match Dante’s against any of the New York restaurants. The owner had a restaurant in New York,’ he said. ‘We sold him a new car recently – Gino. Dad kidded with him, telling him he’d trade the car for a lifetime of his lasagna,’ he continued. Suddenly, he seemed afraid of any silences between them. ‘You’ve probably eaten here, right?’
‘Years ago,’ she said.
He pulled into a parking space, shut off the engine, but sat unmoving.
‘I didn’t mean anything when I said “when you’re ready”. I mean …’
‘Now you’re having second thoughts about the invitation? I was thinking how much luggage I would need,’ she said. If she could do it, she would avoid even an innuendo. He looked at her and then smiled.
‘OK, OK.’ He raised his hands. ‘Let’s eat.’
He got out and hurried around to open her door. She had started to let herself out, not expecting it.
‘Hey,’ he said, ‘when you give a girl a corsage on a date, you’re expected to open all doors and pull out all chairs. Just so you know what to expect.’ He closed the door and reached for her hand.
‘I expected no less,’ she said, making it sound as if she was used to it. He raised his eyebrows. Was she putting it on too much? Did he think she was measuring him against some college boyfriend? My God, she thought, I’m analyzing every moment, every word spoken. Is this a result of years of therapy? She was sure she was trying too hard not to offend him or make him feel uncomfortable.
They started for the front entrance.
‘Actually, I can be quite sophisticated for a country boy. I watched enough Cary Grant movies,’ he joked.
‘I haven’t been with that many sophisticated boys,’ she confessed as he opened the door. ‘And the last time any gave me a corsage was my senior prom.’
‘Good for Jack Martin,’ he said, stepping back.
‘You know who took me to the prom?’
He had been out of high school for two years at the time. Why would he have any interest in her then if he had none when he was still a senior? He didn’t answer. Instead, he led her into the restaurant.
Gino Dante’s wife, who was the receptionist, stepped out from behind her high polished oak counter to greet them. She had a dark Mediterranean complexion and was buxom with wide hips. Strands of gray were woven through her licorice-black hair which was tied back into a neat bun. On the wall behind her were nearly a dozen portraits of comedians and singers who had played and still played the Catskill resorts. They had eaten here and had given their pictures with compliments for the food and service inscribed. There were also pictures of the Dante family, including pictures of the grandparents and aunts and uncles back in Naples and Florence.
‘Good evening, Mr Stonefield,’ she said, offering her hand.
‘Mrs Dante. You remember Victoria Myers?’
It was just a small movement in her eyes and a slight tightening of her lips that revealed her surprise. Did she think I had been sent away for the rest of her life or something? Victoria wondered. Did she think I would have developed some malformation, a hunchback perhaps, or shrunk into an anorexic?
‘Victoria, of course. Buonasera. I haven’t seen you since you were in high school. What a beautiful young lady you’ve become!’
‘See?’ Bart said, validated. He straightened his shoulders. ‘She graduated summa cum laude,’ he said proudly. ‘This year,’ he emphasized.
‘Oh, a special celebration. Congratulations. Your parents must be so proud.’
And surprised, Victoria thought Mrs Dante would add in her thoughts. After all, look what happened to Humpty Dumpty.
‘They are. Thank you.’
A waitress approached them.
‘Take them to table seven, please, Anna,’ she said. ‘Enjoy. And, again, congratulations, Victoria.’
They followed the waitress.
‘I was here my first return trip during my first year of college,’ she told Bart. ‘Not that I would expect her to remember.’
He nodded. ‘Well, she’ll remember you tonight,’ he assured her.
There was little change in the restaurant’s décor from what Victoria recalled from that last time. The dominant color was still ruby – ruby cushioned seats and ruby streamed through the light-oak panel walls. There were a half-dozen highly desirable booths, usually reserved for a party of four, but Bart had obviously asked for one. The booths offered more privacy, more intimacy. The tape of an Italian tenor singing ‘Nessun Dorma’, not loud enough to interfere with conversation, sounded like movie background music to her as she continued to the table. This evening was something like a movie anyway, she thought. Any moment the lights would come on and it would end. She’d leave the theater along with everyone else.
‘So, do you like red or white wine?’ he asked as soon as they sat.
‘Doesn’t it depend on what we order?’
He blushed a little again, closing and opening his eyes with an ‘oops’ expression. He was trying harder than she was, she thought. What a surprise.
‘Of course. They have some great fish dishes and you’ll want white with that. I usually order a Chianti, but we can order by the glass, too. We could have a cocktail first. I don’t drink all that much, but I usually order a Rob Roy. What do you like?’
She smiled, remembering the first time her father had made her a vodka gimlet. That was his drink. He’d have one on Friday and one on Saturday night, but never during the week. She was only fourteen at the time he introduced her to it, but he believed it was better to have your child learn about alcohol at home rather than at parties or whatever. To her surprise, her mother agreed. They both expected she wouldn’t like the gimlet, but she did.
‘I’ll have a vodka gimlet,’ she said. He looked impressed. ‘My fat
her’s drink,’ she added. ‘I’ve never had one outside of my house or unless I was with my parents at a restaurant. I think I had one here that night I returned from college. It was after my eighteenth birthday, but I had to show my driver’s license.’
‘You’ll probably have to do that until you’re in your seventies.’
‘Watch out. You know what happened to Pinocchio,’ she warned. It was one of her mother’s favorites when Victoria was growing up. She was still capable of tossing it at her father when he exaggerated something.
‘No fears. I wasn’t lying or exaggerating as far as I’m concerned,’ he replied and then gave the waitress their drink order when she brought their menus. ‘So, you never had a gimlet on one of your big city dates either?’
‘No.’
She didn’t want to tell him she had never gone on a big city date. She wondered if she should make up something.
‘So tell me what college life in the big city was like,’ he said. ‘Was it as intimidating as people tell me?’
‘At first, yes, especially for someone who comes from a place where in the fall and the winter you could sprawl out on Main Street and feel safe,’ she said.
He laughed. ‘It does get like that in the smaller hamlets.’
‘It was difficult to get used to just walking on the city sidewalk among hundreds and hundreds of people. And the noise, the lights at night, the traffic. Yes,’ she continued, nodding slightly as though she was actually realizing it for the first time, ‘it’s intimidating. You think about crossing the street more, you cling tighter to your purse, and it takes a while to realize you shouldn’t smile so much at other people – strangers. In fact, people in New York tend to avoid eye contact. When you go into a store to buy something, the clerks or owners just want you to tell them what you want. There’s no How are you? How’s your mother, your father? In the beginning, I actually waited for someone to ask how I was first or at least say good morning.’
She stopped, realizing she was going on too much. He had a look of amazement on his face.
‘Sorry. I’m blabbing.’
‘No. That was a great description. I feel like I’ve been living there a while myself now.’
‘I don’t mean to make it sound good or bad. I mean, I like New York City very much. It is exciting, but I’m not sure I’d want to live there.’
‘You can take the girl out of the country, but not the country out of the girl – that sort of thing?’
‘Maybe.’
‘That’s probably a fitting description for me. Whenever I have driven into the city, I’m always amazed at how hard it is to find a parking spot and how long it will take to go three miles. Here, it’s about three minutes or so, but there it could be hours, I suppose. Maybe it’s how your nerves are formed, although I do have classmates who live and work in the city. Don Ritter works in the Empire State Building for some law firm. Remember Don? His family lives in South Fallsburgh.’
‘Not much,’ she said. ‘I mean, I recall him, but I don’t believe I said more than three words to him or him to me.’
‘He was the class brain, but a nice guy. He took me to lunch once near the Empire State Building and then he had me go up to the top.’
‘I’ve never been.’
‘Never went up to the observation deck?’
She shook her head. ‘Nor have I gone to the Statue of Liberty, and I can count on one hand how many times I’ve been to Times Square.’
‘Well, I guess you don’t graduate with honors if you’re playing at college,’ he said. Charitably, she thought.
The waitress brought their drinks.
‘Give us a moment. We haven’t looked at the menus yet,’ Bart told her and she left. ‘Well, welcome home,’ he said, lifting his glass to touch Victoria’s in a toast.
Yes, she thought, I am home. In the end, where else would I go?
She looked at the menu.
‘Is your mother a good cook?’ he asked. ‘My mother’s OK, but her favorite recipe is reservations.’
She laughed and thought. ‘She gets a passing grade, but my father’s actually a better cook, or should I say enjoys doing it more than she does. Actually, my grandmother has kept us in home cooking. She still sends over care packages from time to time.’
‘She lives in Centerville, right?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ She smiled. She didn’t know where any of his grandparents lived or even if any were still alive. How or why did he know about hers?
‘She still drives. I’ve had her car serviced,’ he explained quickly.
‘Sounds like you know more about the residents here than the local newspaper does.’
‘You can learn a lot about someone from the way he or she cares for their car,’ he said. ‘I have to tell you, though, men take care of their cars better than women, and I don’t mean just the engine and stuff. They keep them cleaner inside. Of course, they’re slobs at home. If I go by myself, that is.’
‘Where do you live, Bart? With your parents?’
‘No, I moved to a little apartment in Monticello two years ago. It’s just one bedroom – nothing fancy, especially now that I’ve lived in it that long. You know, the bachelor pad syndrome. I’d have to fumigate before bringing you to see it,’ he added.
Just the suggestion set a flutter under her breast. Should she tell him she had never been in a man’s apartment? How much of her social failure did she want to reveal?
‘My father’s meticulous. He’s more organized than my mother,’ she said. ‘My mother’s the absent-minded professor actually. Except in her classes.’
‘I’m pretty good when it comes to the garage. I pounce on stains and tools left out. Like everything, it’s priorities, I guess.’
She looked at the menu again. She had nervously drunk most of her gimlet and the warm feeling actually frightened her. Since the Incident, she had rarely drunk any hard alcohol, unless it was with her parents. Would her life be different now if she hadn’t done any drinking that night at the lake? She thought she had sobered up after she had left, but she had no way to measure herself, having never really been drunk. She was certainly not as inebriated as Jena was that night and nothing had happened to her.
‘I’m going with the Spaghetti Bolognese,’ he declared. ‘I recommend the Dante salad first.’
‘That’s fine, but I’ll follow your father’s recommendation on the lasagna.’
He gave their orders to the waitress and ordered a bottle of Chianti.
‘That all right? The Chianti?’
‘Yes, fine,’ she said and sipped her drink.
‘Want another of those?’
‘Not unless you want to carry me out.’
He laughed. ‘One of these is enough for me, too.’
The waitress brought them a basket of homemade bread, half plain and half garlic.
Victoria looked around for the first time since they had sat down. Most of the people were summer residents and tourists, but she did recognize some locals. They were looking her way and speaking softly. Was she still that famous? Were they shocked to see her so well put-together and out with Bart Stonefield? Suddenly, she thought about his parents. Did they know he was taking her to dinner tonight? Would they have approved or disapproved? Would her mother had immediately said, ‘Why do you want to get involved with that girl? She can’t be stable. She’s mentally wounded.’
‘I see a couple of my customers here,’ Bart said, following her gaze.
She nodded and glanced around again. One of them could be in here, she thought. He could be looking at me and smiling to himself, thinking, I had her. She had to stop thinking of that if she was going to stay here, at least for the summer.
‘Have you stayed in touch with many of your high school friends?’ she asked.
The question seemed to throw him, almost as though no one had ever asked it and he wasn’t sure how he should respond.
‘I see some of them – the ones who stayed here after high school – but very
few – actually, no one except Don – of those who left. We’re supposed to have a class reunion in four years – our tenth year since graduation. Charlie Sacks was class president and talks about organizing it. He ended up living down in Goshen. He went to work in the Emerson plant in Middletown after he served in the army and met a girl from the area. He’s got twin girls, three years old.’
‘You weren’t drafted after you quit college?’ she asked. This time he did wince.
‘Politics,’ he said cryptically. She didn’t pursue it. ‘I would have been a terrible soldier anyway. I’ve always had trouble following orders.’
The waitress brought their wine, opened it and poured some for him to taste. He nodded and the waitress poured them each a glass. He leaned toward her to whisper, ‘I never know what to look for when tasting, but I do look like I know what I’m doing, don’t I?’
She smiled, sipped the wine and stared at it for a moment. ‘It’s not a cheap wine. Good clarity.’ She smelled it. ‘A little fruity, faintly floral. A Sangiovese?’ she asked and looked at the bottle, nodding.
‘Wow. You picked that up in the big city?’
‘Yes and no. I was in a wine-tasting class one weekend. Something different to do. I didn’t do much wine drinking afterward, so it was almost a total waste of time. Until tonight,’ she added, smiling.
He laughed. ‘Lots of beer drunk at college, right?’
‘I never appreciated beer. I’m sorry. I must sound terribly dull.’
He raised both hands. ‘Hey, I’m not much of a beer drinker either. I nurse one bottle or glass in the local watering holes. Maybe we have more in common than you’d think,’ he said.
The waitress brought their salads, but his words echoed … more in common than you’d think. She started to eat rather than respond. It was almost on her lips to say, Not unless you were sexually violated. How many times had she thought that whenever any girls at school even hinted at getting to be a close friend because they seemed to like the same things?
‘Just so you know, the time I did spend in your mother’s English class didn’t go to waste. I’ve been writing our company’s advertisement copy and I came up with the slogan, Stonefield, a car dealer solidly behind its customers. Get it … stone … solid? Connotations – that’s what I learned from your mother.’
The Incident Page 4