The Incident

by Andrew Neiderman

  I’m home, she thought. I’m in my room.

  I really did dream it.

  Maybe she laughed with relief. Whatever the reason, it had a sobering effect on everyone else in the room. Everyone stopped speaking. The silence began to frighten her. She turned her head and cried, ‘Mommy.’

  Her mother shot forward to take her hand and her father came around on the other side. He held her right hand and they looked down at her with expressions she had never seen on them. They looked very young, but in a great deal of pain. She was going to laugh until she saw a tear escape her father’s right eye, and then she started to cry and they were holding her, both of them, seemingly each struggling to get a bigger piece of her. She wondered if the trembling she was feeling was coming from her or her parents.

  She heard the doctor say something and they released her and stepped back.

  ‘It’s better she get a little sleep,’ he said. He wasn’t smiling at her to make her feel better or forget. He looked very concerned.

  This is very, very serious, she thought, and it’s happening to me.

  FOUR

  ‘The food’s really very good here. You’re right. It could stand up against any of the best New York City restaurants,’ Victoria said. ‘Not that I’ve been to that many or consider myself some sort of gourmet.’

  She saw Bart was pleased that she had agreed with him about a hometown restaurant.

  Did I say it to please him or because I really believe it? she asked herself and then wondered if everyone questioned the sincerity of their own statements. Once again, she found herself wondering. Was she doomed now and forever to analyze everything she said and everything she did?

  ‘You don’t have to be a gourmet to know when it’s good or go by the opinion of any professional food critic,’ he said. ‘Your opinion is just as important. That’s what I think.’

  ‘My mother would agree. She’s always complaining about people following what’s popular just because it is and not because they want to. Her motto is Think for yourself. You know, her and Descartes.’

  ‘Descartes?’

  ‘I think therefore I am?’

  ‘Oh. Yeah,’ he said, even though she could see he wasn’t sure about the quote or who Descartes was.

  ‘Only she adds I choose therefore I am.’

  He nodded. She wanted to tell him about existentialism but thought it might be too heavy a topic. The danger was clear. She could make him feel inferior because he didn’t have the education she had. ‘Diminish the man and you demolish the romance,’ her grandmother once whispered to her.

  ‘That makes sense to me,’ he said.

  ‘If I counted how many times she’s compared people to lemmings, I’d be counting until I was ninety.’

  He laughed.

  ‘I remember. She’d challenge any opinion or conclusion you had when you were in her class. I think her favorite question is Why did you say that? or Why do you think so? Am I right?’

  ‘My father claims it was what she asked when she was born. She looked at the doctor and said, “Why?” I told her she was never and would never be satisfied with the answer.’

  He laughed harder. ‘You have a good sense of humor about your mother.’

  ‘That I inherited from my father,’ she replied. ‘But don’t misunderstand me. There’s no woman I respect more. She’s …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Got a firm grasp on whatever she needs to get through the day.’

  Did he think that was odd, that she considered getting through the day such a big accomplishment? It had been for so long and, in her mind, it always would be.

  He tilted his head and smiled. ‘Isn’t there more to life than just getting through the day?’

  She looked away. She wouldn’t say it, but she thought it: not for me. Tonight, however, she felt hopeful. Perhaps that would change, after all.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, looking at him. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Ah, Gino’s come out of his kitchen cave,’ Bart said. She turned to look.

  Instinctively, she thought it was because of her. Surely Mrs Dante had gone into the kitchen and mentioned her being with Bart Stonefield. Gino came out to greet people, and although he worked his way through the restaurant, greeting the locals and the tourists, it looked obvious to Victoria that he was really coming out to see them. Every once in a while, he lifted his eyes from whoever he was speaking to and looked their way.

  It gave her a cold feeling. She was still of the belief that no one who knew her history could look at her without some trepidation. Sometimes they looked as though they thought she was capable of suddenly screaming hysterically. The tension was palpable. Surely Bart would realize it, too, before this night was over, and regret ever even thinking about asking her on a date.

  Gino paused at their table. He was in his mid-sixties, but his hair, full and thick, had turned into a cloud of white, creating a sharp contrast with his dark complexion and razor-sharp ink-black eyes. He was uncharacte‌ristically slim for a chef. Bart seized on that immediately.

  ‘Your food’s fantastic, Gino,’ Bart said, ‘but obviously you rarely eat it. You haven’t gained a pound since my parents first brought me here.’

  ‘It’s secretly made not to have calories,’ he replied and looked at Victoria. ‘And this is our little Victoria Myers. It’s good to see you and see how beautiful you have become,’ he said.

  She felt herself relax. Gino Dante’s smile was warm, his eyes full of sincerity. There was none of that hesitation and concern she feared. There were still people who actually stepped back as if she was radioactive.

  ‘Your lasagna is still the best I’ve eaten,’ she replied.

  His smile widened. ‘I make it only because his father would have the Mafia close me down if I didn’t. He’s in here, what, once a week?’ he asked Bart.

  ‘Sometimes twice,’ Bart said, nodding. ‘My mother had Gino sign a promise that once he retired from the restaurant, he would become her chef.’

  ‘I would. So, are you here for the summer?’ he asked Victoria.

  ‘Maybe,’ she said.

  ‘My wife tells me you graduated college already. At this rate, I will soon be too old to cook,’ he said. ‘You kids are growing up so fast. This one used to hide behind his mother when I greeted them,’ he said, nodding at Bart. ‘That’s how shy he was.’

  ‘I still remember you pinching my cheeks. I think you called it a pinch of sugar and not salt.’

  Gino laughed. ‘I made a tiramisu,’ he said. ‘I’ll send a portion over for you to share. Welcome home,’ he told Victoria.

  They watched him walk off to greet another table.

  ‘He was always very nice to me, too,’ she said. ‘I didn’t see him the last time I was here. I suppose he came out for you this time more than for me.’

  ‘I doubt any man would come out more for me than you,’ Bart said.

  Was it possible to blush all over your body? That’s the way she felt. One of the side effects of the Incident had been the turning of her into a little girl again in many ways. She had been on the verge of becoming sophisticated, confident, before she was so violently and abruptly sent to the back of the line. It was like learning how to smile and laugh like a woman instead of a girl all over again.

  ‘They’re nice to most people. They have three children, two boys and a girl, and none of them have anything to do with the restaurant. My father’s always comforting him about it even though Gino doesn’t seem that upset.’

  ‘They’re all older than we are, right?’

  ‘Yes. I remember Stevie. He was a good basketball player, terrific one-hand set shot from the corner,’ Bart said. ‘They all worked here when they were in high school, of course, but all three wanted to do other things with their lives. Maria married an executive from NBC television. His family used to come to the Catskills to vacation and that’s how they met. I think he produces one of the morning news shows. They live in a fancy part of Manhattan – three kids
, all girls. Stevie went to work for Kraft Foods. He’s some sort of executive now, in Chicago. His uncle on his mother’s side got him the job. He’s married with two children, boy and girl, teenagers by now. Their youngest, Mario, was the one with the real wanderlust. He ended up with his own travel agency in Boston. Another uncle helped set him up. I don’t think he’s married. He was only two years ahead of me.’

  She sat there, smiling at him.

  ‘You really do know about everyone here, don’t you?’

  He shrugged. ‘When you’re in business here and you’ve lived here so long and your customers are mainly local people who talk about their families, you like to listen. At least I do. Besides, it’s good salesmanship.’

  ‘I don’t mean it to sound as if I’m criticizing. I think it’s actually very nice. That’s what I think is missing in big cities,’ she said. ‘People live in the same apartment building, even right next to each other, and hardly speak to each other all week, if ever. They certainly don’t know much about their lives, their families, unless there’s some sort of trouble. I had some classmates who live in the city,’ she said. ‘I mean, I don’t know anything first-hand. What I know, I know from listening to them.’

  Now he was smiling with eyes full of delight and desire. ‘You’re probably more like me than you think – a hometown girl.’

  She looked down quickly. If he only knew how trapped she was, she thought. Yes, she was a hometown girl; she wasn’t fond of big city life. Maybe he was right; maybe it was the way their nerves formed, their temperaments. For her, though, home was a dark world, forever stained, a world where nightmares flowed freely, where every face was full of pity or even, in many cases, disgust.

  Disgust didn’t really surprise her as much as it should. There were those who believed in their hearts that bad things happened to people for a good reason, that we were punished on earth for the evil we committed. Another view that led more to disapproval than sympathy was that accidents happened to people who were careless or defiant. If you were scammed, it was because you were too trusting, downright stupid. You were robbed when you were in the wrong place and the wrong time. It was almost as if all the criminals had no-fault insurance.

  Sympathy, if you could find it, was as valuable a commodity as gold or diamonds.

  Pity was silver, but who really wanted to be pitied?

  She recalled one of her grandmother Annie’s Old World friends, Tillie Zorankin, a Hungarian woman who lived in Centerville with her unmarried son, Milton, a shy man who was satisfied working as a store clerk in Sanders hardware store for his whole life. If anyone had grown up asexual, it was Milton Zorankin. He looked as if he slept with bolts and washers and had erections dreaming of the perfect electric drill.

  Tillie believed in the Evil Eye. She had warned Victoria about it when she was only ten and visiting her grandmother.

  ‘Pride,’ she said. ‘Pride and joy are dangerous. You don’t show what precious things you have and you don’t brag. He’s watching, waiting to pounce.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The devil, that’s who. Mind my words,’ she warned, waving her skinny, bony right forefinger at her. Her skin had a yellowish tint and her fingernail was blackened by the skin that faded beneath it. ‘You be modest and humble. He hears the compliments and sees how you take them? Listen to me.’

  She looked at her grandmother who shook her head.

  ‘She believes in vampires, too,’ she said, laughing.

  ‘I’ve seen them,’ Tillie declared, her eyes wide. ‘In the old country.’

  Victoria was actually more frightened of her than she thought she would be of a vampire. How many times had she thought about that day, those warnings, since?

  ‘You all right?’ Bart asked, reaching across the table to touch her hand.

  ‘What? Yes. Sorry.’ She smiled. ‘You get me thinking deeply.’

  ‘Is that good or bad?’

  ‘I want it to be good,’ she said. It was about as close as she had come to indicating interest in any boy or man since. His smile seemed to explode on his face. He was still touching her hand. She glanced at it, but she didn’t move. When the waitress brought the tiramisu, he lifted his fingers away.

  ‘OK, we’re in for it. Those delicious calories. Coffee? They make a great cappuccino.’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  He ordered and then sat back. ‘Go on. I know you’re dying to take the first spoonful.’

  She did.

  ‘So good it’s a sin, huh?’ he asked.

  She laughed, more to herself.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I was thinking about my father’s expression every time someone says something my father has is good.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Beats a stick in the eye.’

  Bart laughed, leaned forward and took a spoonful. He stared at her for a moment, a moment too long and too intensely. He moved his eyes as if he was searching every pore on her face and his lips drifted into a soft smile.

  ‘My turn to ask what you’re thinking?’ she said.

  ‘It’s good to see you happy, Victoria,’ he said. ‘Whenever I have seen you smile, like that time once when I saw you at the Down Under, you were smiling, but it didn’t seem real. It was like you were putting on the smile mask because it was expected.’

  ‘It was. And now?’

  ‘This is real,’ he said.

  ‘Are you so sure?’

  ‘Yes, and I like it. Very much.’

  She was tired of blushing, tired of avoiding eyes, tired of retreating into some protective shell. Yes, it was taking a chance. Yes, she could be hurt so deeply and so severely that spinsterhood would become something to cherish. Every time since, when she had a sexual feeling or a romantic notion, she had clamped down on it and retreated either to her school work or some other distraction. If nothing worked, she went to sleep. She slept a great deal in the months afterward. The therapy was really just beginning, but she didn’t trust it – or anything else, for that matter.

  After her physical recuperation and once she had begun her therapy, she tried to fan her rage. Anger was at least an indication you were still alive. Jena was good at helping her do this. Jena would let her go into her rants, dreaming up her vengeance and punishments that were more in the line of torture than anything else. From castration to driving nails into their temples, she designed excruciating medieval penalties for the violators. It seemed to satisfy her more. Victoria began to wonder if Jena wanted revenge on all men because she had yet to have any give her the time of day.

  ‘Maybe I’m finally relaxing,’ she offered. ‘Maybe it’s finally sunk in that I have no term papers to write or tests to study for.’

  ‘I was hoping I had something to do with it,’ he said. His smile seemed to tremble on his lips.

  ‘A little,’ she said coquettishly. She hadn’t flirted like this for so long that it felt as if she was doing it for the first time. His smile strengthened and widened.

  ‘Well, I’ll just keep working at it until a little becomes a lot,’ he replied. ‘Will that be all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. She wondered if she would say yes to a marriage proposal with any more enthusiasm, whether it came from him or anyone.

  ‘Did I mention that I have a boat on Echo Lake?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s nothing like a yacht or anything. It’s a nice-size motorboat. We can go on a picnic on the water tomorrow. The weather report is very good, and service at the dealership is closed on weekends so I’m off. We can swim and I’ll show you how to run the boat. Would you like to do that?’ he followed when she didn’t say anything.

  The reason she hesitated was that it had suddenly occurred to her that she didn’t have a bathing suit. Mindy Fein had invited her to their family pool twice after the Incident, but she had declined each time and after that because she didn’t feel the invite was sincere. It was probably given at her mother’s suggestion. Take pity on the girl. Mindy stopped
inviting her. Her parents never went to any lake to swim, and although Jena hinted at it a few times during the summers that followed, Victoria never wanted to go. The truth was she hadn’t gone swimming since that night. How foolish to assign any blame to that, but everything surrounding that day took on new meaning, brought a new feeling. She never traveled that path. She even avoided looking at the Millers’ house.

  How would she tell him she had no bathing suit?

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Is ten too early?’

  She held her breath a moment. There was no way to get around it.

  ‘I need a new bathing suit,’ she said. ‘I’ve been meaning to get to it, but …’

  ‘Oh, no problem. I’ll take you shopping and then we’ll go from there. Where would you like to shop for one?’

  The offer nearly took her breath away. She couldn’t remember her father taking her to buy any clothes, much less a bathing suit. She never went shopping for her things with anyone but her mother. She never went with girlfriends, not even Jena, and her excursions in New York City were almost always alone.

  ‘Will that be all right?’ he pursued.

  She was fumbling for the right words. She didn’t want to sound dumb or unsophisticated about it, but she couldn’t help feeling as if she would be doing something promiscuous.

  ‘I know in some Middle Eastern countries you have to get married after doing something like that,’ he continued, ‘but …’

  ‘I’ll take the chance,’ she offered as a reply. He laughed.

  ‘Then ten o’clock it is,’ he said.

  She sipped her coffee. It was so rare for her to be anywhere with anyone and wish it would last longer. She glanced at her watch and then looked at people who were leaving.

  ‘It’s a little early,’ he said. ‘To take you home, that is.’

  Despite how she was feeling about him, she sensed a tightening in her body, a tightening she hated. What did that mean? It’s a little early to take you home. Was he going to suggest his apartment? What would she say?

  ‘I have a great idea. I’d like to show you something at the store.’