Funeral with a View

by Schiariti, Matt

  “You love Butch and you know it.”

  “I certainly do.”

  “Rick,” Sandy said affably, holding the door open. “So glad you could make it. Please come in.” Otherwise spartan, stacks of boxes lined the walls of the cavernous house. “Sorry about the state of the place. I haven’t had a chance to settle in yet.” Catherine took my boss’s offered hand. “Catherine. Sandra Colbert, but please call me Sandy.

  “Nice to meet you, Sandy. Great house. We love the development.”

  Sandy rolled her eyes and her cheeks flushed. “My father’s idea of a ‘little place’ to set me up in. Personally, I think it’s overkill, but thank you. So, everyone’s out on the deck taking advantage of the gorgeous weather. Right this way.” Long legs drove her toward the back of the house.

  Cat held me behind and poked me in the ribs. “Not attractive? And did you see what she’s wearing?”

  It was hard not to. Sandy was dressed in dark blue jeans tight enough to look spray painted on, and a pink halter top that couldn’t have been anything other than silk. It stopped an inch above her navel and the V-neck showed off her eye-catching cleavage.

  “Nope. Hadn’t noticed.”

  “Uh huh. She smells like she started the party early, too. Think she left any booze for us?” Catherine whispered.

  “Shh! Be nice. This is my boss we’re talking about here. I hope she doesn’t have super hearing. Come on. Let’s follow the leader.”

  Sandy already had the French doors open when we caught up to her. “Go ahead and make yourselves comfy. Drinks?” I asked for beer, Catherine settled on wine. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  I took the opportunity to mingle and introduce Catherine to those of my coworkers she’d never met. Jack Resnick was there, but if he was pissed about the recent loss of the Jersey Gym contract, he didn’t let on. The sun continued to dip ever closer to the horizon as we ate, drank, and laughed. Sandy played the gracious host, making sure nobody was without something to eat or drink, flitting from guest to guest like a trained professional. The overall atmosphere was a little stuffy at first, something I attributed to employees being on their best behavior in front of the new head cheese in her own home, but Sandy showed people a side of her most of them had never seen before, and eventually people lightened up. That was clearly part of Sandy’s plan. I watched as she evaluated them under the guise of harmless social chit-chat. It was impressive in its simplicity.

  By the time night had settled in, only Catherine, Sandy, and I remained, the rest of the guests having made staggered exits over the course of the party.

  “Sorry I’ve had to keep Rick at work so much lately, Catherine.” Flickering light from the torches cast intermittent shadows on Sandy’s face, which broke into a conspiratorial grin. “Between you and me, I’ve been going a little stir crazy. Work has been insane. Nights, weekends … I almost had to cancel this party. Rick stepped up and really helped me out, which was a godsend because I needed a chance to unwind some.” Deep red lips touched her wine glass as she took a sip. “Okay, I needed a chance to unwind a lot. You’ve seen the house. I haven’t even had a chance to unpack.”

  “We know what that’s like,” Catherine said. “We moved not all that long ago ourselves. It seems like some boxes’ll never be unpacked.”

  “Exactly!” This was good. The two of them were getting along, and I couldn’t ask for more than that. “Ricky’s easily one of my best employees. If I had a whole army of people like him I could corner the market. His promotion was well deserved.”

  Cat wrapped an arm around my shoulder. A persistent, chilly breeze swept through the yard. I welcomed her body heat. “He’s definitely special, no doubt about that.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me.” Sandy paused. “You’re such an attractive couple. I can’t imagine how adorable your kids will be.” I felt Cat stiffen beside me. “I’d better get these dishes taken care of.”

  “I can help you with those,” I said, getting up out of my chair.

  Sandy’s black hair bobbed as she shook her head. “No way. You’re my guests. Guests in my home don’t lift a finger. Sit, relax. I’ll be back in a bit.” Her tone left no room for argument.

  Cat pressed her lips to my ear as soon as Sandy speed-walked into the house, plates in hand. “Did you tell her we were trying to get pregnant?”

  “Why would I tell her something like that? I’ve never said a word. Can’t be anything more than harmless conversation.”

  Cat pursed her lips. “Rick, maybe we should—”

  “I’m back.” Sandy reappeared and almost flopped into her seat. “Would either of you like a smoke?” She pulled something out of a Ziploc bag and lit it with a Zippo, flame illuminating her face in bright, fiery orange. She took a drag, held it, then let out a lazy exhale.

  “Um, no thanks,” I said. “Cat and I don’t smoke cigarettes.”

  A cloud wafted on the breeze, and I caught the scent. She sure as hell wasn’t smoking a cigarette.

  “Not exactly what I was referring to, Rick.” Sandy took another strong drag. The bright tip of the joint revealed that her contented smile was directed at me.

  Cat giggle-snorted. “Weed?”

  “It’s for my glaucoma,” Sandy choked out. “Kidding. It’s to help me mellow out. Work has me so damned stressed. It’s a constant fight to prove myself, like I have to justify my existence. Most think I only got the job because I’m the Big Cheese’s daughter, so I have to work twice as hard to prove that I really do know what I’m doing. But, shhhhh,” a shadow fled her face for a moment and I could see how lopsided her grin was, “this is strictly between us, right, Ricky? Can’t have the water cooler contingent thinking I’m anything other than the cast iron bitch they assume I am. No retreat, no surrender!”

  “Mum’s the word,” I said nervously. The night had just ventured into odd territory. My inner alarm bells began screaming, and I judged it was time to get going while the getting was good. I stood up. “Anyway, I think it’s about that time. Hate to be a party pooper, but Cat and I should really get going.”

  Another inhale revealed Sandy’s exaggerated pout. “So soon? You can stay as long as you like. Want me to fire up the hot tub?”

  Cat stood and found my hand in the near-total darkness. “We’d love to, Sandy, but Ricky and I have an early day tomorrow.” That was a lie. “And we wouldn’t want to overstay our welcome.”

  My stoned boss wasn’t ready to give up the fight. “Are you positive?” Another hit, another exhale of pungent smoke. “I have plenty of booze. Plenty of everything. Could always call a cab if you need to.”

  Alright. Time to stop this train.

  “Thanks, Sandy,” I said, “but Cat’s right. We don’t want to put you through any trouble. You’ve done enough already. Dinner was fantastic. Thanks so much for having us over.”

  Nodding, Sandy finished her joint in silence as Cat and I stood waiting for her to show us to the door.

  ~~~

  “I don’t like her,” Catherine said tersely.

  I glanced at my wife, only able to see her face as we passed streetlamps on Rt. 206 South. In the intermittent splashes of light, I noticed her tense posture and the defiant tilt of her jaw. She stared straight ahead.

  “Things did get a little weird. I didn’t see that joint coming.”

  “That’s got nothing to do with it. You know me, Ricky. I’m no prude. I smoked my fair share of pot with Jude and her friends when we were younger.”

  “Then what’s the problem? I thought you were having a good time.”

  “She’s interested in you.” Cat’s even tone cut through the car, sharp and frigid. No mistaking it; she was pissed.

  I tried laughing it off. “Interested in me? She was being a good host, that’s all there is to it.”

  “Bullshit. She was practically eye raping you the whole night, even before she lit up. Are you that naïve, or just acting like you didn’t notice it, too?” She crossed her arms and g
lared at the roadside. “I’ll tell you one thing. She sure isn’t a lesbian.”

  “Honey, I think you’re reading into this a little too much.”

  “Ricky, please. I know her type.”

  “And what type is that?”

  “The type who wishes you weren’t married.”

  “Alright, so she stares a bit much, and maybe, just maybe, she was on the flirty end of the spectrum. I chalk that up to a combination of wine and reefer. Really, Cat. You’re overreacting. Besides, I’m off the market and completely uninterested.”

  Cat turned in her seat, her movements measured and slow. Vertical waves of light played off her face, her hair. “One’s got nothing to do with the other. Just because you’re not interested in her doesn’t mean she’s not interested in you.”

  “Why do I feel like I’m the one you’re pissed off at here? Didn’t I call it quits when things got too uncomfortable?”

  “I know,” she sighed, and ran the back of her hand along my cheek. “I’m sorry. It’s not you I’m mad at. But I think you should trust me on this one, Rick. She made her intentions loud and clear tonight. You may not want to admit it, but I picked up on it without even breaking a sweat. Be careful around her, that’s all I’m asking.”

  I cradled her hand in mine and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You have nothing to worry about. Remember, I may be a dick, but I’m your dick.”

  Catherine remained quiet, and in the dark I couldn’t tell if she smiled or not.

  CHAPTER 41

  “What’s wrong?”

  Cat and I were seated at the picnic table eating Chinese takeout. Summer was close to its end and we’d been making a point to enjoy what little of it was left. Something was bugging her, that much was clear. A confirmed Chinese food addict, she’d barely made a dent. That in and of itself made me feel as if something wasn’t quite right. Her fingers worrying over her C&R charm bracelet set it in stone.

  “I got my period again this morning,” she said sullenly.

  Two more months, two more visits from Aunt Flo. We’d been trying to get pregnant since getting back from the honeymoon. Trying a lot. As each new month brought another period, Cat became more dejected. It was a slow burn. At first she’d handled the disappointment with subtle optimism, but her frustration was growing daily. My wife’s emotional armor tarnished more and more each day.

  “Again? Shit. I’m sorry, Cat. It’s not that abnormal though, is it? We’ve only been trying a couple months.”

  “I know. Maybe I’m being impatient, but I want it to happen so badly.” Her eyes met mine, their fiery hazel offset by her sadness. “Talk about ironic. When I didn’t want to be pregnant I had no problems, and now that I do want it …” She sighed. A dry breeze blew a strand of lengthening hair into her face. She left it there. “I get so worked up every month.”

  “Hey.” I walked behind her and kneaded her tense shoulders with my thumbs. “You’re getting too worked up. I know you want to start a family. So do I. It’ll happen in time. You can’t keep pressuring yourself like this. The stress isn’t healthy.”

  She relaxed as I gently massaged. “This may sound awful, but sometimes it’s not easy when I visit Jude and Rob. The twins are getting so big, Ricky. It’s hard not to be a little jealous. You must think I’m obsessed.”

  “Obsessed? Anxious and disappointed, but not obsessed. I think deep down you’ve already convinced yourself it’ll never happen. You can’t think that way, Cat. Some people try for years. I’m not saying that’ll be us, but you need to give us some time. Besides, we both like the practice, don’t we?”

  “Mmm hmmm.”

  “Tell you what. Let’s watch some shitty slapstick movie tonight and get a good laugh in. Forget the baby situation for a couple hours. You with me?”

  “Sounds good.” Cat touched her lips to my hand.

  I did most of the talking and eating for the rest of the meal. Cat was too busy playing with her bracelet to do much of either.

  ~~~

  There’s nothing like a classic Mel Brooks movie to unburden the mind. In this instance, watching High Anxiety while cuddled up on the couch was our balm of choice.

  We were in the middle of laughing our asses off as Mel Brooks tried, unsuccessfully, to evade a barrage of pigeon shit when the phone rang.

  “I’ll get it.” Catherine hit the pause button and ran to the kitchen.

  Why is it that cordless phones never seem to be around when you need them?

  But I digress.

  The movie brought Catherine out of her funk somewhat. Laughter is not only contagious, it’s the best medicine. Where my pep talk had failed, Mel’s twisted Hitchcockian comedy proved much more effective. As the movie got more out of control I could almost feel her stress melt away.

  “Hello?” A pause. “Oh. Hi. Yeah, I’m good. You?” Cat’s clipped, tense words piqued my curiosity. “Yes, he’s here. Hold on a sec. Here, Rick. It’s for you.”

  “For me?” The look she gave told me how stupid the question was. “Right. Hello?”

  “Rick? It’s Sandy Colbert. I didn’t get you at a bad time, did I?”

  “Um, no. No, not at all.” Catherine sat next to me, arms folded across her stomach in a pose that could have been filed under N for ‘Not Happy.’ “We were just watching a movie. What’s up?”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll call back.”

  “That’s not necessary. It’s fine, really. Hold on a sec?” I put my hand over the mouthpiece. “Sorry, Cat. Work call. I’ll try to make it quick.” Catherine shrugged. “Sandy? I’m back,” I said, and went into the kitchen.

  “Good. I’m at the office and—”

  “Still?” I glanced at the microwave’s clock. “Jesus, it’s almost quarter to ten. Fourteen hour work days are the stuff premature strokes are made of.”

  “Yes, I’m still at the office and I’m flattered that you care about my health so much. I was doing some bookkeeping, running some numbers, and I can’t find the damned copy of the Marriot file. I needed to know where you kept yours again.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  One quick reminder later, she sighed and I thought I heard what sounded like a slap to the forehead. “That’s right. I feel so scatterbrained today. Thanks Rick, you’re a lifesaver.”

  “I always thought of myself as a Jolly Rancher kinda guy, but you’re welcome either way. And get home, will ya? You won’t be doing the company any good if you’re found dead at your desk in the morning. The janitor’s seen too many winters, and I’m pretty sure discovering your cold body would give him a heart attack. You don’t want that on your conscience, do you?”

  Sandy’s laugh was pure silk. “No, not at all. So hard to find a janitor that won’t rob you blind. Thanks again, Rick. You’re the best. Please, apologize to Catherine for me?”

  I assured her I would, then we said our goodbyes.

  “Lost a file, huh?” Cat said.

  I settled in on the couch, phone with me just in case. “Eavesdropper. She sends her apologies by the way.”

  “I bet.”

  “Ready to finish up the movie?”

  “Yep.”

  I hit play. Mel Brooks thought he found shelter from a blitzkrieg of avian poop only to discover his refuge has a hole in the ceiling. I laughed until I had tears in my eyes.

  For the first time in a long time, Catherine hadn’t found it funny.

  CHAPTER 42

  Summer gave way to fall, fall turned into winter. Christmas was right around the corner and the Franchitti household brimmed with holiday spirit in spite of one looming issue: Operation: Get Pregnant! had passed the six month mark without even so much as a close call. Not exactly the blink of an eye, but we knew people who’d tried much longer, sometimes pushing years rather than months before finding success. Catherine carried on in stoic determination as we continued to try until it stuck.

  “Glen? Glen!”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Where did you put that angel I bough
t for the top of Richard’s tree? I can’t find it anywhere.”

  “Looking for it, dear.”

  “Mom, would you stop yelling? Keep it up and you’ll give the twins nightmares.”

  Santa’s helpers had graced us with their presence in the form of Mom, Glen, and the Curring clan.

  “It’s okay, Rick,” Jude said. “Sam and Jeff just love Miss Beth, don’t you?” She held a cherub in each arm, and they cooed through drool-laced smiles.

  “And I love them, too,” Mom said, and tickled the twins, causing fits of giggles. My mother’s want of grandkids rivaled Catherine’s desire to become pregnant in ferocity, but as the reports of Aunt Flo’s monthly visits persisted, jabs about the Baby Making Machine transformed into sage, motherly advice about ‘giving it time’ and ‘Rome not being built in a day’.

  Quite proud of himself, Glen had finally found the angel my mom had been harping him about. The doorbell rang as I placed it atop the tree.

  “I’ll get it,” Rob called. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and opened the door. “Hey, guys. This is a pleasant surprise. I didn’t know you were coming.”

  “It was a last minute thing. We heard there was free eggnog and we couldn’t pass that up,” Bill replied from the foyer. “It’s snowing like a mother f—”

  “Bill,” came a high female voice. “Watch your language. The kids are here.”

  “Woops. Sorry.” Bill and Angela walked into the house, shaking snow off their jackets.

  Catherine, full of genuine cheer, gave them both hugs and kisses. “Hey, you two. Here, let me take your coats.”

  In an amazing turn of events, Bill and Angela had become a couple. Their post-wedding reception night out had turned into a series of dates, and they’d hit it off. What threw me most was Angela didn’t conform to Bill’s type. My best friend had a habit of placing looks, not personality, on a pedestal which would explain his revolving door of women over the years. The prettier the face, the sexier the body, the happier the Bill Henly. Angela turned all that on its ear. More Velma than Daphne, she was cute in a bookish type of way. His new squeeze was short but curvy, wore glasses, and had short brown hair, something I’d never believe possible from the man who’d lived his life thinking the adage “blondes have more fun” was in fact the Eleventh Commandment. Sweet, funny, and smart, Angela never had a bad thing to say about anybody. I suppose it didn’t hurt that she was a hellcat in bed. That’s according to Bill—I can’t speak from personal experience.