“What the hell’s all this?” he said, taking in the lights for the first time.
“I thought it would make the place look more festive. Don’t you think it looks festive?”
“For December maybe,” Eddie snorted. “Not June. And where’s that turkey smell coming from? You didn’t say anything yesterday about making a turkey.”
“I changed my mind at the last minute. All those recipes Sylvia showed me, they just seemed too complicated. I figured, my mom always made a turkey on Thanksgiving—how hard can it be? You just stick it in the oven for a few hours and serve it.”
Eddie wandered into the kitchen. A moment later he called out, “Are you sure this turkey’s cooking? You’ve got the oven down awful low.”
“It’s a slow-cooking turkey. It’s supposed to be low.”
“How long’s it been in here?”
“I don’t know. An hour or two, maybe?”
“And what’s this shit? Gluten free?” He came back in, holding a turquoise and yellow box.
“That’s for Diana. You know how she had that surgery and she’s still trying to lose weight?”
“That woman could lose fifty more pounds and she still wouldn’t be skinny.”
“That’s not the point. The point is that she can’t eat rich foods anymore, and the guy at the natural-food store I stopped in said this gluten-free pasta is low-glycemic, which I guess is supposed to be good for weight loss and stuff.”
“Now you’re going to specialty stores for this party?”
“It didn’t cost that much,” Cindy said. “It’s just the one box.”
“Whatever.” Eddie took the box back to the kitchen, bored with the subject. “We got any beer in this place?”
“Look in the fridge,” Cindy called back. “There should be some in the drawer on the lower right-hand side.”
“German beer? I can’t drink this imported shit. Where are my Buds?”
“You must’ve drank them all.”
“Where the hell’s the bottle opener? The damn cap doesn’t even twist off.”
• • •
A few hours later, Cindy was putting the finishing touches on her makeup in the bathroom. She was staying away from the heavy black eyeliner Eddie preferred to see her in, going for more of what in previous generations might have been referred to admiringly as “the Cover Girl look.” Before doing the grocery shopping the day before, she’d stopped by the mall. Ignoring the stores she usually bought clothes from, she headed straight for J Crew where she spent half her paycheck on an outfit that included a tailored white shirt with ruffles and a long beige skirt that had a tiered effect and looked like something from Cowgirl Barbie’s collection. Combined with the white shirt, though, it made Cindy feel confident, like she was selecting something that Lise might wear herself. On her feet she wore a pair of beige canvas flat slides.
“I thought you said this was supposed to be a party,” Eddie said, slouching in the doorway, regarding her with a beer in his hands. “What are you dressing up for? Church?”
Cindy studied Eddie’s reflection behind her in the mirror. He had on torn jeans and a Black Sabbath concert T-shirt that had seen better centuries.
She ignored what he’d said to her, instead saying, “What about wearing that outfit I bought you for Lise’s party? You looked great in those khakis with the white shirt.”
“No way,” Eddie said. “I may have to put up with whatever that gluten shit is and German beer, but this is my home. I’ll dress any way I want to.”
“If you’re not going to change, then maybe you could put some music on?”
“Now that’s the first good idea you’ve had all day.”
“I bought some new CDs,” Cindy called after him. “They’re next to the stereo.”
The apartment being small and the living room already cramped with the sofa, La-Z-Boy chair, coffee table, end table, and TV meant the stereo was in the bedroom. The apartment being small meant it didn’t matter because you could hear the stereo, loud, in every room in the place.
“Crap, Cindy!” Eddie yelled after just a few bars from the first CD on the pile. “I can’t listen to this. What did you buy? Muzak?”
• • •
As it turned out, Eddie’s instincts about what to wear were more on target than Cindy’s. As the others arrived by twos, dressed on the downside of casual as though a memo had gone out that this was not the kind of place you wore your fancy or preppy clothes to, Eddie favored Cindy with a satisfied smile. If Sunny and Dan looked out of character in their stiff jeans, neither seemed the type to complain, and Tony was certainly at home in his. They were even more at home once they had beers in their hands.
“Why don’t I help you in the kitchen?” Sylvia offered.
“No,” Cindy said, speaking more sharply than she intended, holding up her hand. Then she softened. “Really. You’re all our guests tonight. Let us wait on you for a change.”
“Cindy, it is so wonderful to see you again,” Sunny said, “and the food smells marvelous. You look marvelous as well. How is the ba—?”
He never got to say the second syllable because Sylvia kicked him in the shin.
“Is that turkey I’m smelling?” Sylvia said, sniffing the air. “At least let me peek in the kitchen. I promise I won’t touch a thing.”
Cindy led Sylvia to the kitchen. On the counter was a big glass bowl of fruit: strawberries, chunks of pineapple, cherries.
“These look delicious,” Sylvia said, reaching out to steal a cherry.
“I bought an angel food cake for dessert,” Cindy said. “I figured I could serve it with fudge sauce for anyone who wants it and Diana could have the fruit.”
“That was very thoughtful.”
“Is it hot in here?” Cindy asked. “It feels hot to me all of a sudden.”
“Why not just open the door?”
In addition to the interior flight of stairs from the living room down to the street, there was another door in the kitchen, on the other side of which was a tiny deck and a flight of weathered wood stairs. The overhanging roof and the so-close-you-could-practically-touch-it building across the way meant that the deck didn’t get any sun for growing flowers or sunbathing, but it was at least big enough for Eddie to go out and smoke on when he was drinking.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Cindy said, opening the door with a tight smile.
“Relax,” Sylvia said, putting her hands on Cindy’s shoulders. “You’re having a party. This is supposed to be fun.” She looked around the kitchen. “And everything looks, just,” she turned her smile up another twenty watts, “great.”
“I thought you said you were slowing things down with Sunny,” Cindy said.
“I am. But you said everyone had to bring someone, and who else did I have to bring? Enough about me, though. Let’s see what the others are doing.”
“This place is really charming,” Dan was saying as they entered the room. “I had a place like this when I was in college.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie said. “When are you talking about, like, before you won the lottery?”
“I’m sure Dan didn’t mean—” Diana started to say.
“Your husband can’t speak for himself? What kind of man lets his wife stick up for him?”
“Yes, of course he can,” Diana said. “I only meant—”
“I only meant I really like your place,” Dan said with an easy smile. “Nothing condescending intended.” Then he clapped Eddie on the shoulder. “Get you another beer?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” Eddie said, allowing himself to be led away. “We’re cool.”
• • •
Eddie walked the floor of his apartment. He was looking for somewhere to settle down, get comfortable with his beer. But in every corner, there were people.
“Dirk says if I just make these last few changes, the book will be perfect,” Lise said.
“Isn’t that what Dirk said the last time?” Ton
y said.
Eddie walked on.
“I love that outfit,” Cindy said.
“Thanks,” Diana said. “I just bought it today.”
“I think maybe I should go put the pasta on now,” Cindy said. “Do you want something else to drink?”
Eddie walked on.
In another corner, Dan and Sunny talked baseball while Sylvia fiddled with the chips and dip Cindy’d brought out.
“Do you think the Mets will go all the way this year?” Dan asked.
Sunny laughed. “If they do, it will be a miracle.”
Eddie downed the rest of his beer. Ugh. Backwash. Imported backwash.
Who the fuck were all these people? And what the fuck were they doing in my home?
Oh. Right. They were Cindy’s friends. Cindy’s fancy friends, even if they all were slumming it, wearing jeans that night.
Enough. Enough of the friends and enough of that god-awful Muzak.
Eddie went in the bedroom where he replaced one of Cindy’s new CDs with an old Guns ’n’ Roses tape. Ah, that was better. Then he passed through the living room, grabbed another beer from the fridge, and headed out onto the deck where he lit up.
“Nice party,” a friendly voice said. “Thanks for having us.”
Which one was that one? Oh, right. Lise. The big-shot writer. Say this for her: at least she was smoking too.
“My pleasure,” Eddie said, blowing two streams of smoke out his nose.
Now the bitch would probably want to make small talk.
“How are Cindy’s online classes going?”
“Say what?”
“Her online classes. I came here a few months ago to help her set up the computer Sylvia gave her. I was just wondering how the classes were going.”
Eddie, ignoring the glass ashtray on the brown plastic parson’s table, tossed his cigarette over the railing and went inside. Lise ground hers out in the ashtray before hurrying after him.
“Yo, Cindy,” he said, catching her checking the turkey in the oven. The others had all followed her in. “What’s this bitch,” he yanked a thumb at Lise behind him, “talking about? You taking some classes you didn’t tell me about?”
“Hey,” Tony said, putting a protective arm around Lise’s shoulders. “Watch your mouth.”
Eddie stabbed a finger at him. “You watch your mouth, asshole. I wasn’t talking to you.” He turned to Cindy. “Well?”
“It’s nothing, Eddie,” Cindy said, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “I’m just taking some classes. It’s nothing.”
“If it’s nothing, then how come this is the first I’m hearing about it? You wanna explain that to me?”
Cindy sighed, and then tried on a smile. “It was going to be a surprise. I thought I could get my GED, and then maybe take a few college courses, learn something useful that would get me away from Midnight Scandals.”
“Oh. Some surprise. And then what?” He grabbed her hard by the upper arm, so hard she couldn’t move out of his grip. “You get your college diploma, and then maybe you leave me? Maybe you leave me for one of these fancy guys like all of your fancy friends?”
“It’s not like that! It’s—”
“Easy, Eddie,” Dan said soothingly. “Let her go.”
“If I need your help,” Eddie said, “I’ll ask for it.”
“C’mon,” Dan said. “This was supposed to be a party, remember? How about another beer? I sure could use one.”
“Yeah.” Eddie let go of Cindy’s arm, ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, a beer’d be good.”
“And maybe some food?” Diana suggested. “Perhaps we’ll all feel better if we have something to eat?”
“That’s a good idea,” Cindy said. “Right. The food.” Turning back to the oven, she lifted the turkey out and turned to the group with a smile. “Who wants to carve?”
Sunny stepped forward and reached for the knife. Shooting Sylvia a warm smile, he said, “I am told I have a nice touch with one of these.”
“Save your talents for cutting into people,” Eddie said, brushing by him. “My house. My woman. My turkey.”
Eddie took the carving knife and fork from Cindy and put a big slice in the turkey, right down the middle.
“What the fuck?” he said. “This thing is all pink in here! It’s raw!”
Cindy looked mortified. “Maybe if I just—”
But it was too late. Eddie had already picked up the bird in his bare hands and, striding to the back door, hurled it over the railing of the deck where it smashed into the neighbor’s house. A light went on next door.
“Can you blame him?” Cindy said, forcing a laugh. “Who wants to eat raw turkey? When Eddie’s right, he’s right.”
“Maybe the pasta?” Diana suggested.
“Of course,” Cindy said, her smile taking on an air of desperation now as she lifted the lid. Then her face fell. “Oh, no.”
“What is it?” Sylvia asked.
Eddie leaned over Cindy’s shoulder. “What the hell is that shit? Is that your gluten pasta?” He stuck the same fork he’d used on the turkey into the gelatinous white stuff in the pot. He laughed, a nasty sound. “It looks like it melted on you.” In an instant, the gluten pasta followed in the path of the turkey. “What the fuck is the matter with you?” he screamed in Cindy’s face. “Can’t you ever do anything right?”
Sunny stepped between them. “I do not like to interfere, but someone really needs to tell you that that is not the proper way to talk to a lady.”
“Nobody asked you, you Middle Eastern motherfucker,” Eddie said. Then he placed both hands against Sunny’s chest and shoved.
“Don’t you touch him!” Sylvia said, getting between them. “And he’s not Middle Eastern, not that that would matter. He’s from Southeast Asia, Pakistan.” Sylvia put her hands on her hips. “You’ve laid hands on nearly everyone at this party. What are you going to do, hit me next? C’mon, tough guy. Everyone else may be scared to tell you what’s what, but I—”
“Get out!” Cindy shouted. There were tears streaming down her face. “Don’t you realize how much worse you’re all making it?” She herded her guests toward the door, barely giving the women time to gather their purses. “Get out! Get out! Get out!”
In the kitchen, the bowl of fruit sat on the counter and the cherries gleamed.
Cindy
“Get out! Get out! Get out!” It seemed I was saying that a lot lately, seemed like it was all I could say.
But as soon as the others left, and I was alone with Eddie, and I saw the look on his face, I was sorry I’d done it. Why had I done it? At least if they’d stayed, even though things would probably have gotten ugly—or uglier—at least I would have had backup. The sheer number of the others would have kept Eddie from…doing things.
So why had I done it?
But, then, it hadn’t been the first time…
A few months before Carly’s last stint in the hospital, she’d moved in with us for a week. She just couldn’t take the ’rents ragging on her about her drinking and drugs anymore, and she said she just needed a place to get her shit together for a while. One day, Eddie and I’d been drinking all day. I didn’t usually like to drink much, but something about having both Eddie and Carly under the same roof, something about the unseasonable warmth of the late October day, more like spring, made it feel OK to join in.
As the day wore on, though, Eddie’s mood darkened. We were sitting at the little round dining room table. Eddie used to sit me down there when he wanted to have one of his little talks that always felt more like one of those criminal interrogations you see on TV except, in this case, Eddie was both good cop and bad cop. Eddie’d gone to the kitchen for another beer and to change the CD in the bedroom, and Carly got up from where she’d been trying to ignore our fighting on the couch and told me she was going out for a bit.
“Please don’t go,” I’d begged her in a hushed whisper. “I’ll give you anything you want. You can come to Midnight Sc
andals tomorrow and pick out anything you want, and I’ll pay for it. Only just don’t leave right now. I’m scared of what he’ll do if you leave.” I know, it was crazy to bribe my own sister. But Carly hated being around us when we argued.
So Carly had stayed, taking a chair at the table. I like to think she did it because she was worried about me, but who knows? Carly was pretty fucked up back then. It could have just been for free thongs.
When Eddie came back in and saw Carly at the table, things got better for a while. We even laughed a bit. But maybe another hour later, things started to escalate, I guess you’d call it. Eddie asked me something personal—I don’t even remember what it was now—and I don’t know why I said it, but I just said, “I can’t answer that with Carly sitting here.”
Even though she’d been drinking right along with us, meaning she was pretty drunk too, the look of confusion and betrayal on Carly’s face had been huge. I could see her mind saying, You asked me to stay here and protect you and now you’re the one who’s giving him the opening to—
“Yeah,” Eddie’d turned to Carly, “what the fuck are you doing sitting here? Don’t you have anything better to do than listen in on a couple’s private conversation?”
Carly had risen from her seat, shot us a look of disgust that seemed even more meant for me than for Eddie, grabbed a few beers from the fridge, and was down the stairs like a light, the door to the street slamming shut behind her. And, after she had gone, things just got…worse. She’d moved out the next day, but not before leaving me with a few words of Carly wisdom.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Cin. It’s like you set yourself up. That whole thing yesterday, begging me to stay and then making it so of course Eddie would ask me to go? And all week long, I’ve seen you saying little things to Eddie; the kind of things I’d never say to him because I know they’d just set him off. It’s sick. What are you getting out of all this? God, it’s worse here than with the ’rents.”
And then she was really gone.
The Sisters Club Page 19
