“I can’t imagine stopping. To me, playing is essential—kind of like oxygen and strawberry blend-ins from Burt’s.”
“Aren’t they the greatest?” Matt asked.
Press crossed his arms and just stood aside, a silent spectator.
“I understand what you mean about music,” Matt went on. “I still love it, but I guess other things kind of took over. You know, I still haven’t gotten the nerve to tell my old violin teacher. She was this amazing musician—went to Juilliard, got a Ph.D. and everything. She’s crazy and was really tough, but she was fantastic.”
“You don’t mean Tina Chang, do you? She’s my teacher—I mean, I still study with her.” Basia held out the check.
Press took it unnoticed.
Matt started doing his quick hopping thing. “Wow, talk about a small world. You know, maybe that’s why you look familiar. We must have crossed paths coming and going at her place. Did you have lessons on the weekend? Evenings?”
“Saturday, late afternoon.”
Matt bobbed his head.
Press reached for his wallet and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. It was time to get the show on the road. He supported his friend, he really did, and this Basia kid looked pretty and clearly was talented and all. But how come Matt, with his lame conversation and dorky ways, was able to attract two cute girls, huh?
Do I have bad breath? Dandruff? Body odor? Am I just that unappealing to women? No, certain women, he modified. Amara… Not that he was interested in her. After all, in less than a week, he’d head back to Australia.
“Are you planning on coming to any of the Reunions activities?” he heard Matt ask. “Press, here, usually gets me in. I’m sure he can get you in, too, if you want.”
For the first time in the conversation, Basia seemed to notice him standing there, too. “Oh, thanks,” she said, taking the check and the money. She rang up the bill on the cash register. “I know my brother’s on some panel on Saturday, so I suppose I’ll try to go to that. He’s a Grantham grad. I’ll have to change my schedule around, though, which might not be that easy.”
“Oh, you got to. What’s he talking about? The energy crisis? Diplomatic relations with China?”
“No, actually it’s some college sports thing, something about equal rights.”
Press turned back. Something struck a cord. “Hey, your brother? He wouldn’t be—”
“Vic Golinski.” She handed Press the change.
“No. keep it.” Press shook his head. “My sister’s talking on the same panel—Mimi Lodge.”
“Oh, my God. She’s the one who…”
Press nodded knowingly. “Yeah, I see the story’s famous in your family, too.”
“What? What’s so famous?” Matt asked.
Press turned to him. “It was before you moved to Grantham. I was maybe ten or eleven.”
“Yeah, I was twelve, I think. I still remember this huge fiasco. If you’ve got a minute?” Basia asked.
Matt nodded.
She closed her score with a grand thump. The swoosh of air sent a photo flying out that had been tucked inside the cover.
Matt reached in the air to rescue it before it tumbled over the ledge. Naturally, being Matt, he made several futile attempts, which left Press to deftly catch it on the downswing. He passed over the three-by-five snapshot. “Hey, cute kid. Your nephew?” Press looked at the photo, tilted it so Matt could see, then handed back the photo.
“Actually, my son, Tommy.” Basia admitted with a proud smile.
“You know, on second thought, I think I better get going,” Matt announced.
And before Press could get him to pay his share of the bill, his good buddy was out the door and gone.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE WARM BREEZE BATHED her skin like a dry lotion. The buzzing of cicadas filled the air. And the newly mown lawn smelled with an “Our Town”-like sweetness. All was right in the world, especially judging from the sound of chomping.
“I’m so glad those dog treats were a big hit. The bag said it was wholesome chicken, whatever that means. So I figured I couldn’t go wrong…even if it isn’t strictly picnic fare.” Mimi knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t help it.
Vic lay sprawled on his side, propped up on his elbow, a glass of red wine in his hand. He was watching his dog seriously chewing away at one of Mimi’s treats. “I think Roxie believes that chicken jerky is appropriate for any dining occasion,” he answered, looking very content himself. “And you know, at this very moment, in this particular setting—” he spread his arm wide, wineglass in hand “—with this particular company, I might add—” he nodded at Mimi, who nodded back “—even I wouldn’t turn down chicken jerky.”
What more could she ask for?
Mimi had absconded with one of Noreen’s ultra-chic, ultra-expensive wicker picnic baskets. The kind that contained real silverware, cut crystal wineglasses and bone china, a monster candelabra and a wool tartan blanket no doubt handwoven by faithful serfs at some laird’s castle.
After Lilah’s phone call, Penelope had rushed to the rescue with some arancine, stuffed rice balls, that she just happened to have whipped up—as well as prosciutto from her local purveyor. Mimi didn’t even know what a purveyor was. Oh, and would she ever forget Penelope’s stuffed figs?
“They’re the soul of simplicity but the epitome of sensuality—Dionysian, one might even say,” Penelope had declared, using a classical illusion that seemed perfectly normal to her, albeit semi-unfathomable to the rest of the world.
Now, after stuffing herself silly—quite possibly in a Dionysian manner—Mimi sighed. She flopped on her back, her arms spread out to her sides. “God, I can’t remember the last time I was here. Maybe in third grade when we studied New Jersey history.”
She’d chosen the Grantham Battlefield Park on the western edge of town. The rolling lawn was bordered by thick copses of trees. An old farmhouse overlooked the site of a decisive victory for Washington and his troops during the Revolutionary War.
The sun was just setting, the streaks of pink low in the skyline. Now the glow of the candles became more prominent. So the wax was dripping on the blanket. Mimi didn’t care. Instead she gazed at the flickering light of fireflies dancing in the silky dusk.
“You know, whenever I see fireflies, I always think of being a kid in Grantham in the summer. A time of innocence,” she declared. She glanced over and saw that one of the flying insects had landed on Roxie’s nose.
The dog twitched and shook her head. The lightning bug took off and circled above, pulsing flashes of light. The dog stopped chewing long enough to watch its swirling path.
“See, even Roxie’s entranced,” Mimi noted.
“Nah, she’s just wondering if she can eat it,” Vic said.
Mimi turned her head his way. “And here I had declared you to be a romantic. How wrong could I be?”
“I’m merely a good judge of my dog. Besides, who said my romantic impulses weren’t fully functioning?” Vic sat up, grabbed the bottle of red—he’d brought wine in the end, after all—and poured more into her glass. Then he set the bottle back on the sterling silver coaster and sidled up the blanket. He lay on his side closer to her.
Mimi was highly conscious of his presence…his warmth, his smell, his maleness. She gulped. If she were nervous before, she was doubly nervous now. But she wasn’t going to run and hide like she’d been doing for so many months. Something inside her wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t allow it, she knew.
He sipped his wine. “The food was great, you know.”
“I can’t take any real credit for it. When I decided that a picnic was probably the best way to go—because, naturally, I wanted to include Roxie—”
“Naturally.” He smiled.
At the sound of her name, Roxie stopped chewing on her chicken jerky and looked up. Vic rubbed her side with the soul of his shoe, and contented, she went back to concentrating on her treat.
“Anyway, I enlisted the
help of my old college friend Lilah Evans? You remember her?”
Vic narrowed his eyes. “Our class at Grantham?”
Mimi nodded.
“To tell you the truth, not really. But I have heard about her organization that helps women in Africa. From your story on television, to be exact.”
Mimi rubbed her ear somewhat self-consciously, thinking about him watching her when she didn’t know it. “Yeah, Congo. Anyway, her sister-in-law, who’s this total fruitcake in my opinion—nice but a fruitcake—is Penelope Bigelow.”
“Now her I remember. A few classes ahead of us. Valedictorian. Bookworm. Thick glasses.”
“No more glasses—laser surgery, gorgeous in this tumbling-hair-Mia-Farrow kind of way. But she is still a geek. Anyway, she also happens to be this ama-azing Italian cook—the type that makes her own sausages.”
“That type exists?”
“Apparently. Anyway, she also always seems to have enough food on hand to feed an army of people.”
“Or at least enough for a picnic for two,” Vic put in.
“Exactly. So, after bringing over all this stuff to the house, she then gave me strict instructions about what kind of bread I was supposed to buy and where. Like she didn’t trust me to not buy sliced white bread.” Mimi held up her hand in disgust.
“But sliced white bread makes the best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” Vic announced.
Mimi opened her eyes wide. “Doesn’t it? And do you remember that Fluffer Nutter stuff? The fake sticky whipped cream?”
“The best, especially straight out of the jar.”
“With your finger, not a knife?” Mimi leaned forward. “Do you know my current stepmother, Noreen—who in many ways is an outstanding person despite the fact that she’s married to my father—doesn’t let her daughter Brigid eat anything that isn’t totally healthy? I had to sneak some into the house the last time so Brigid could get the full experience,” she confided.
“Glad to see you’re still a troublemaker,” he joked.
“Does a leopard change its spots?” She lifted her head to drink some more wine, then rested back on her elbows. She gazed at the darkening sky and tried to pick out the three stars of the only constellation she knew.
“You know, I got to admit, of all the food tonight, my favorite was the meatballs. They remind me of the Polish meatballs my mom makes.”
“They were the only things I made. They’re called kurzunush. It was my mother’s recipe.” She pointed into the sky. “There. I found it. Orion.”
Vic slid on his back even closer to her. “Yup, and there’s Cassiopeia.” He pointed overhead and to the right.
“Where? I don’t see it.”
He took her hand in his and guided it to the spot. “There. Do you see the W?” He moved her hand from point to point.
“Yeah, that’s amazing.” Mimi wasn’t sure she was talking about the stars or the feel of his fingers on hers.
“And over there in Ursa Major? That’s the Big Dipper.” Still holding her hand, he guided it almost directly overhead. “Can you see the handle bending down to the bowl?”
“I think so. It’s really big. Like, duh? No wonder it’s called the Big Dipper.” She turned her head, her nose practically brushing his ear. She caught a faint whiff of his shampoo—minty. “This is the first time I’ve seen the Big Dipper. It must be all the wine. I haven’t had anything to drink in I don’t know how long, and I guess it’s gone to my head.”
Vic turned his face toward hers, positioned his nose next to hers and breathed silently for a second or two. Then he turned back to face the sky. “Hey, if you think that’s cool, let me show you something really cool.” He gently maneuvered her hand up and to the right. “There. You see it? That’s the Little Dipper, which is kind of hard to see because most of its stars are faint except for two in the bowl.” He outlined it as he spoke. “So, those two stars are called the Guardians of the Pole because they dance around Polaris—kind of like groupies.”
“You’d know all about those,” she said wryly.
“I refuse to be riled by that comment.”
“Okay, I’ll give you a break.” She refocused on the heavens. “So which one’s Polaris? That’s the North Star, right?”
“Correct. Now pay attention.”
“Like you’d let me do otherwise?” She felt a thrill tingling her toes.
“Don’t be cheeky,” he chastised good-naturedly. “So, extend the line between the Guardian stars in the bowl about six times the distance between them and you come to the North Star. See? It’s at the end of the handle, and it’s pretty clear because there aren’t any other bright stars around it.”
“Oh, my God. I see it.”
“Now, Navigation 101. Extend your arm to the left and that’s west.” He brought her arm across his way. Her forearm brushed against the cotton of his shirt. “And to the right? That’s east.”
Their joined arms passed over her. But this time he stopped short of letting his upper arm rub against her sweater.
Mimi tried to concentrate on the star gazing lesson and not the rapid beating of her heart. “So how do you know all these things?”
“I was a Boy Scout. Eagle Scout, in fact.”
“I should have known. I bet your whole family was there for the ceremony. Just like I bet you all still get together for dinner every Sunday.”
“Midday meal, actually.”
“See, I knew it. That’s why you’re such a straight arrow. You grew up with a lifestyle bathed in classic Americana.”
He let their joined hands drop between them and shifted his head to look at her. “Whoa, there. You think that just because I come from an ethnic blue-collar background, my family life is all sunshine and lollipops? We may all live near each other—I bought my parents a town house next to mine, you see—but that doesn’t make for total peace and harmony. I mean, my father and mother barely speak to each other except to say ‘Pass the butter, please.’ We’re big on butter in my family. And my mother is convinced that everything we do is fraught with danger. She even bawled me out for horsing around with my three-year-old nephew this morning. You’d have thought I’d hung him over some windswept cliff.
“Then there’s my brother. Well, let’s just say commitment or a solid work ethic has never been a part of his vocabulary. And did I mention my kid sister?”
Mimi shook her head.
“She’s a single parent and going to school, all the while thinking she ruined her life by marrying a compulsive gambler at the age of nineteen. What do you say to that?”
Mimi mulled over the information. “Wow. To think you’re so…so normal.”
“I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
“I wasn’t being snide. Okay, maybe a little, but there’s no crime in being normal. It’s just that it’s not particularly—”
“Sexy?” he asked.
“On the contrary, you can’t imagine how very sexy.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SO WHY WAS VIC’S KIND of normal very sexy, indeed?
Mimi wiggled to scratch an itch—not really sure if it was more than skin deep. “I mean, for a straight-arrow guy who only appears to own one kind of clothing—blue button-down shirts and khaki pants, you must know you’re a hunk?”
“You find me physically attractive despite my sartorial limitations?” Vic asked.
“You make it sound so superficial.”
“Well?” He raised an eyebrow.
Mimi rolled her eyes. “Well, of course there is that. But if I merely thought that you were something pretty to look at, I wouldn’t bother talking with you now.”
“I’m so relieved,” he said with mock approval.
“No, you know what I mean. There’s a certain substance. But I can’t quite put my finger on it. So, help me. Tell me about yourself. You were married?” Mimi pretended not to notice the sudden pang of jealousy.
“Briefly, while I was playing pro ball out in California. I wanted unqual
ified adoration. Shauna wanted a Lexus and a place with an uninterrupted ocean view.”
“What happened?”
“I was cut from the team, and I found out her adoration was qualified.”
“Ouch.”
“It happens. She got the Lexus and the condo. I got Roxie.”
“That sounds fair to me.” Mimi nodded thoughtfully. “So, after you were cut, you didn’t try to sign with another team? You gave up on your dream and opted for something more conventional, something with more promise of stability, less risk?”
“Yes, yes, I am really that stodgy. But—” he held up a finger “—if I may point out, twelve years ago a certain someone told me that my plan to play professional football wasn’t risky at all.” He lowered his chin and stared over his brows.
“You shouldn’t believe everything people tell you, especially twenty-two-year-old know-it-alls with a high propensity for moral outrage.”
He chuckled. “Glad to know that you can be somewhat self-critical.”
“Were we talking about me? I wasn’t aware of that,” she mocked.
He shook his head. “Anyway, the team decided they no longer had any use for my services—this was after the whole head-butting incident that your brother so kindly brought up yesterday.”
“Was it only yesterday? It seems like it was ages ago.”
“Yes. I do have that stultifying effect on people.”
“Quit it.” Mimi boxed him on the shoulder.
“That’s all right. Anyway, first they ordered me to see a shrink who diagnosed that I was suffering from unresolved anger issues from my childhood.”
“Who isn’t?” She didn’t mean it as a joke, even though it came out that way.
“Then I got a whopping fine from the League, after which I was pretty much persona non grata. Which, truthfully, didn’t completely bother me. I knew my playing days were numbered. I was never good enough to be a star, let alone a guaranteed starter. So I decided to get out with only one concussion and a few broken bones and strained ligaments.”
The Company You Keep Page 13