Quick Study

by Maggie Barbieri

  I told them to come into the kitchen so I could get them drinks, which I had stocked up on between the funeral and the Lord’s Bounty. I opened the refrigerator, which was filled to the brim with different kinds of soda, cider, and beer. “Help yourselves. I have to see what your father did with the food.”

  Crawford held his hands up in surrender. “I did exactly what you asked.”

  Max and Fred came through the back door as I was digging through the lasagna to see how hot it was. Max was in skinny jeans, black suede ballerina flats, and a tight black turtleneck, looking like Audrey Hepburn in Charade. I, on the other hand, in my jeans and oxford, looked like George Kennedy in Charade,”minus the fedora. Max and I air kissed and Fred grunted a greeting, something along the lines of “me like lasagna.”

  Erin came to life at the sight of Max. “Hi. I’m Erin,” she said, all happy and animated. She and Max embraced.

  Hmmm. I’d have to see if they had skinny jeans in the big and tall girls’ shop. Clearly, they were a way to this teen’s heart.

  Kevin and Jack were next to arrive, letting themselves in through the front door. Kevin was rocking his full priest regalia for some unknown reason, and Jack was in jeans and a turtleneck, holding a big bag marked “Rangers” that was filled to the brim with hockey loot. I braced myself for his meeting with Crawford, who emerged from the kitchen with a big smile on his face and his arms extended.

  “Father,” he said, embracing Kevin. “Good to see you. And you must be Jack.”

  I was blinded momentarily by Jack’s teeth but did happen to notice a very firm handshake between the two of them; it had the whisper of a pissing contest, but when they released, nobody appeared to have any crushed fingers or hand bones. I did see Jack drop his hand to the side of his thigh and flex his fingers a few times, however; Crawford had apparently employed his own version of the Vulcan death grip just so Jack would know who was in charge. I asked Jack if I could take the bag he was holding.

  “You? No.” He smiled. “The stuff in this bag wouldn’t make it past the hallway if you got a whiff of what was inside.” He reached in and pulled out a Mylar-wrapped wine bottle. “But you can take this.”

  I took the bottle from him and pulled off the Mylar sleeve. It was a 1998 Bordeaux. “Very nice. Thank you,” I said.

  “You like merlot, if I recall?” he said.

  Crawford put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a little squeeze that was not at all affectionate and every bit proprietary. “Oh, she loves merlot. But not as much as a good old martini.” He leaned over and kissed the top of my head, further underscoring the fact that I had no idea whom he had become between leaving the kitchen and entering the hallway. He had only kissed my head one other time and that had convinced me that we were breaking up. “Speaking of which, would you like me to make you one, honey?” His smile was stiff and fake.

  “Sure,” I said, cocking my head slightly. Honey? Who are you? I wanted to ask, but refrained. I took Kevin’s black coat and threw it over the banister. “And what would you two like? Kevin, your usual chardonnay?”

  “That would be lovely,” he said. “Can I do anything to help?”

  You could take off that collar and stop acting like an extra from Father Flanagan of Boys Town, I thought, but I asked him instead to bring everyone into the living room while I futzed around in the kitchen, pretending to cook.

  I was finally alone in the hallway, the majority of my guests corralled in the kitchen, when the doorbell rang. Their seemingly happy voices carried into the hallway and I was pleased that everyone was having a good time. I walked to the front door and could see in the sidelight that it was Jane and her boys, with a couple of other people standing behind them. Frankie had been dropped off and picked up by his father from the Lord’s Bounty, and, as usual, the kid and I had exchanged nary a word during our time serving. I hadn’t seen Brendan since he had left for Notre Dame in the fall and was happy to see him. I opened the door and smiled, ready to embrace my former dog walker and a young man whom I had called Bagpipe Kid at one time.

  Next to Frankie was Amalia. She came in and wrapped her arms around me. “Frankie invited me,” she whispered in my ear. “I hope it’s OK that I came.”

  I stepped out of her embrace and held her at arm’s length, my hands on her shoulders. “I couldn’t be happier that you’re here. How are you holding up today?”

  She shrugged slightly and gave me a sad smile. “I’m OK. I’m just happy to be here.”

  I hugged her again. “I am, too.” I looked at Frankie over the top of her head and mouthed “good idea.”

  He blushed bright red and dropped his eyes to the floor.

  The rest of the guests were milling about and I turned to greet Jane, who was standing off to the side with a woman I had never met.

  “Hi,” Jane said, unwrapping a silk scarf from around her neck. She was her usual put-together self in a pair of wool pants and a cashmere sweater, her blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. “Sorry we’re late.” She turned to the woman on her right, a tall gal with short hair and tortoiseshell glasses. “Alison, this is my partner, Kathy. Kathy, Alison Bergerson.”

  I shook Kathy’s hand, a half-smile frozen on my face.

  In back of me, I heard Max’s signature guffaw reverberate in the hallway.

  Fourteen

  “Well, I didn’t see that coming,” I whispered to Max, the two of us in the kitchen, supposedly getting dinner ready. What we were really doing was standing nose to nose behind the counter taking stock of the fact that I had completely misread Jane’s situation. How was I going to cover up the fact that Jack was there as a setup, which any third-grader could have figured out from the makeup of the guest list, which consisted of priest/friend, boyfriend, boyfriend’s kids, best friend, best friend’s husband, single white male with no seeming connection to anyone except priest/friend . . . and the list ends there? I made a loud sound as I banged the oven closed and leaned against the counter, taking a healthy slug of my wine. The martini that Crawford had made me was long gone.

  Max doesn’t whisper. Ever. I was sure her voice was carrying into the living room, two rooms away. “What do I know? I thought JC Chasez would be the breakout star of ’N Sync.”

  I had no idea what she was talking about and gave her a puzzled look.

  “Justin Timberlake? Hello? ‘SexyBack’?” she said as if I should know what she meant. For emphasis, she knocked her knuckles against my skull.

  “Ow,” I said, rubbing the spot where her bony little fingers had made contact with skull. “What does Justin Timberlake have to do with this situation?” And to clarify in case she still didn’t understand why I didn’t understand Justin’s relationship to Jane’s sexual orientation, I continued, “What does that have to do with the fact that Jane is gay?” I dropped my voice so that she could barely hear me.

  “I’m just saying,” she said, pausing dramatically, “you never know.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “To think that I put my relationship with Crawford on the line to fix this woman up with Jack McManus. What’s wrong with me?”

  Max studied me. “What’s wrong with you? We don’t have enough time to delve into that one. What’s wrong with tonight is that you screwed it up. Big time. But everyone will eventually get over it.” She bent over and touched her toes, limbering up for what, I don’t know. “In any event, you have to feed the people in the living room, including my husband, who gets very cranky when he gets hungry.” She opened the refrigerator and pulled out another beer. “I’ll fend him off with this.”

  I was left alone in the kitchen, figuring I had a few more minutes to hang out there before it became obvious that I was avoiding everyone. Jane’s partner, Kathy, was very nice and had thanked me for inviting her to come along to the dinner party. I acted like it was every day that my neighbor, whom I hoped I could fix up with my priest’s handsome brother, came out to me at a dinner party I had no business having. The boys, Brendan and Fra
nkie, were their usual silent selves, still regarding me with fear and suspicion after some collective experiences we had had involving dead bodies and knife-wielding maniacs. Who could blame them? They did thaw a bit when they discovered that there were two attractive teenage girls in the living room, but they also took note of aforementioned girls’ giant father and his occupation almost immediately. Nothing like having a cop father around to throw a wet blanket on the raging fire of teenage hormones. I knew that Crawford was a big softie, but they didn’t. And maybe that was a good thing.

  I thought about Kathy and Jane again. I’m a moron, I thought, and not for the first time that week. It probably wouldn’t be the last time, either.

  Amalia came into the kitchen, interrupting my mental self-flagellation. “Do you need any help?” She stood at the counter opposite from me and leaned across.

  “No, I’ve got it,” I said. “It’s all catered so it’s not that much work.” I grabbed a towel from the refrigerator handle and wiped my hands. “I don’t do much cooking. That’s why I’m glad they gave me serving duties at Lord’s Bounty.”

  She smiled slightly. “We didn’t feel like going tonight.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” I said. I leaned against the counter, across from her. “But I’m glad you came tonight. Are you feeling up to being with so many people?”

  “It’s better than being in my house. If I have to look at one more casserole of chicken and rice I’m going to puke,” she said, sticking a finger down her throat.

  “Yeah, what’s with the after-funeral casserole? Does every culture have that?” I asked, trying to lighten both of our moods.

  She nodded. “Seems like it. When Frankie called after he got home from the Lord’s Bounty, I jumped at the chance to come here. It’s been kind of a downer being at my house.”

  I nodded.

  Her eyes welled up. “Did that sound bad?”

  I shook my head. “No. Just honest. It must be very hard on your family.”

  “Jose was an idiot,” she said, angrily and uncharacteristically. I had never heard her say anything disparaging about anyone, let alone a family member.

  I flinched a little bit and she noticed, immediately backtracking. “I didn’t mean that. He was just always in trouble.”

  “With the police?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Maybe. I don’t know. All I know is that he and my father fought constantly about what he was doing. He was always looking for the fast cash.”

  Drugs, I thought immediately, and felt ashamed. I guess there were other ways to make quick cash, but I didn’t know of any.

  She gave me a look that indicated that she knew what I was thinking. “I don’t know. I’m not sure. It’s not like he didn’t have the opportunity to get into that. I think it was something else, but I never did find out.” She reached into the pocket of her jeans. “All I have is this.” She pulled out a worn piece of paper and handed it to me. It was a lined sheet of notebook paper with names, addresses, and dollar amounts, all written in neat rows. “I don’t know what it is, but Jose left it in my dictionary. You know, the one he gave me when we were here?”

  Jane came into the kitchen, and Amalia immediately fell silent. “Can I give you a hand with anything?” she asked. She put an arm around Amalia’s shoulders and squeezed.

  I ran my hand nervously through my hair, which in the heat of the kitchen, had grown in volume. “Oh, no. Thanks, Jane.”

  Amalia excused herself and ducked out of the room. I put the folded piece of paper into my back pocket.

  Jane smiled at me, her expression kind. “You didn’t know?”

  I burst out laughing. “Not a clue.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, leaning on the counter that separated us. “I really haven’t been the best neighbor to you. We really should know each other better by now.”

  “What do you have to apologize for?” I asked, taking a wineglass from the cabinet and pouring some wine into it. “Wine?”

  “Absolutely,” she said eagerly. She took a small sip. “Jack seems lovely, though.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  She shook her head. “Just look at your guest list.”

  I held up a hand. “Stop. I’ve already been through this.”

  “I do have a single and straight sister who’s adorable, though.”

  I laughed again and threw my hands up. “I’m out. No more setups.” The oven timer, which I had finally figured out could be set and would let me know when my dinner was ready, rang. “All of this has just highlighted for me how little I know about you, though. Let’s have dinner one night.” I put on an oven mitt. “And it’s on me. It’s the least I can do.”

  She clinked her glass against mine, which was sitting on the counter. “It’s a deal.” She sniffed the air in the kitchen. “The food smells delicious. You must have been cooking all day.”

  I snorted. “Me? Not a chance. I brought it in. From Tony’s. You know the place right in town?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said, seriously, her tone fraught with meaning.

  I looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “It’s nothing,” she said and took a sip of her wine. “It’s just that Tony got a little too familiar with me, if you know what I mean?”

  “Familiar how?”

  She laughed, embarrassed. “You know. Trying to hold my hand, always telling me he loved me, stuff like that. Calling me mi amore. He even tried to kiss me once.” She took the lid off of the tray of food that I had set on the counter, steam rising from the chicken and filling the space between us. “It’s stupid, but it made me uncomfortable, so I stopped going there.”

  My mouth fell open. “He did? You did?”

  She nodded. “He makes great food, though.” She stirred the chicken with a spoon I handed her and ladled sauce over the cutlets. “I heard he got remarried, though, so maybe I can safely go back there.”

  Not a chance, I thought. No wonder Lucia, the new wife, was so incensed. They were married and he was still up to his old tricks. She wanted to inherit the Boar’s Head franchise and nothing was going to stand in her way. I didn’t know whether to be happy, sad, humiliated, or relieved that I wasn’t the only woman in town being mashed on by the horny deli owner. I pulled out another tray of food and set it beside the chicken. “He hits on me, too,” I said. “But I’m just too damned lazy to find another deli.”

  Jane started laughing. “Not going there has made things a bit inconvenient. Not being able to drop in there after getting off the train to pick up dinner is a drag.”

  I cut up some bread and put it into a basket. I heard Fred roar from the living room, “Are we ever going to eat or what?” and knew that I had to get the food out.

  “What do you do?” I asked, pulling forks and knives out of the cutlery drawer. Hungry cavemen make me nervous. I knew it was just a matter of time before he came into the kitchen and made his displeasure known.

  “I’m an architect.” She started folding paper napkins into triangles. “I work for a local firm so I can be home relatively early every night.”

  I thought about that for a moment. “Do you know anything about New York City building codes and the like?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could.

  She looked at me, curious. “Of course. Why do you want to know?”

  I considered how much I could tell her and then figured—we’ve come this far, we might as well go all the way. “I’m interested in what’s going on at Riviera Pointe.”

  “Oh, you mean Richie Kraecker and his less-than-stellar buildings?” she said. When I looked surprised that she knew, she explained. “I used to work for Kraecker’s biggest competitor before I started locally. You know Donovan Corcoran?”

  Of course I did. Their signs hung all over the city. I nodded.

  “I used to bid jobs against Kraecker all the time. But when you have half the city building inspectors in your hip pocket, it’s kind of hard to compete.”

  I dropped th
e knife that I was using to cut the bread and it clattered to the floor. Max was absolutely right: you just never know.

  Fifteen

  The evening ended well enough. After I served dinner, I was able to spend some time with Crawford’s daughters, making a good enough impression to get even Erin to smile a few times. Crawford had told me once that she thought I was the catalyst for her parents’ divorce, despite the fact that they had been separated for six years prior to their union ending for good. Although he had done everything to convince her otherwise, she was still holding on to hope that they would get back together. But now, with her mother getting married in the summer to a fellow divorcé with, alarmingly, four children under the age of ten and having seen that I wasn’t the Wicked Witch of the West, she was starting to thaw. Meaghan, on the other hand, was fine with everything. She had made her peace with her family’s situation long ago, according to Crawford. And she had been working on Erin to see things as they really were between her parents: over.

  So Erin had smiled a few times. It was a start. It was, at the very least, détente.

  Jane and I agreed to have dinner on Wednesday. I knew that Crawford probably wouldn’t be able to make it, and she said that Kathy probably wouldn’t be able to make it either; we agreed that if we waited for our significant others to rearrange their schedules, it would probably be a long time before we could plan anything. Kathy was an attorney at a white-shoe law firm in New York and worked very long hours, so Jane’s and my situations with regard to our love lives were pretty similar. And Jane’s being an architect was an added plus. I thought about all the questions I wanted to ask her about building construction, unions, and developers, and specifically what else she had heard about Richie Kraecker and his business practices. She could come in very handy indeed.

  All in all, the night had been a success. Jack had handed out his cache of Rangers’ merchandise, delighting Frankie, Brendan, Meaghan—and me—no end. I had been the recipient of a signed puck from the team’s high-scoring center, which now had a prominent place on my desk at school. Crawford, finally seeing for himself that I had absolutely no interest in Jack besides his connection to my favorite hockey team, had thawed a little himself and had ceased acting like RoboBoyfriend.