by Joyce, Eddie
“She’s crazy, but I’m guessing she’s not wrong. Vinny’s a scumbag.”
She feels self-conscious, a little coarse, a little Staten Island, using that word. She reminds herself that Wade is a grown man who has certainly heard worse, no matter what kind of jacket he wears.
“He used to work on the floor of the stock exchange. He was a specialist; I think that’s what they were called.”
“Oh, Stephanie is married to that Vinny. The specialist.”
“Yeah. How did you know that?”
“I remember Peter telling me about it. How some guy he knew from Staten Island got jammed up in the specialist investigation and he had to get him a lawyer.”
“Yeah, Petey was too concerned with his own image to take the case himself. Can’t have the gindaloons from Staten Island roaming the halls at his precious law firm.”
Wade grimaces.
“I’m sorry, I know he’s your friend.”
“It’s okay. In fairness, though, it’s really not the sort of work he does. I don’t think he handles that kind of criminal stuff. Not for individuals anyway. And on top of that, it was probably best for Vinny to get a lawyer he didn’t know.”
That’s what Peter told Stephanie, but Tina always thought it was bullshit. An excuse not to deal with Vinny.
“How’s Vinny doing? Peter told me he didn’t end up getting indicted.”
“No, he didn’t, but there was another trial. The SEC, maybe? The whole thing ended up costing them a bundle. Vinny’s not even working now. I think he just day-trades.”
“I’m sure. Those guys had the rug pulled out from under them. There’s nothing left down there. They don’t need the Vinnys of the world anymore. All the exchanges, it’s the same thing.”
Wade sounds wistful. He has a way of talking that makes Tina feel secure, as if she’s in the hands of someone who has things sussed out. Who knows which path the world is going down and has prepared himself. He doesn’t have Bobby’s hard-charging physicality. His masculinity is more subtle, but he can protect and provide.
That’s what Tina really meant earlier when she told Stephanie he was different. She doesn’t think of Bobby every time she looks at Wade. The few other guys she dated or considered dating—the city workers and the union members, the business owners and the blue collar drinkers, all the Staten Island boys who lived their entire lives on a slab of land large enough that they forget it’s an island—all those guys, they were just bad copies of Bobby. Inadequate copies. He was the absolute best possible version of that man, the absolute best. To try to love some lesser version of him would be the greatest insult to his memory she could imagine. If she wanted to feel love (and she was still young and wanted to love and be loved in return), she needed to meet someone who didn’t feel like a cheap imitation of her dead husband.
But how do you do that when all you meet is thirty tiny variations on the same theme? The same bodies sustained by pasta and bread and meat; thick of neck; firemen and cops and sanitation workers, and the occasional accountant or lawyer thrown in for good measure; Italian or Irish or maybe something else but not likely; good men mostly, solid, dependable men who work hard and don’t expect much of the world, but men who you look at across the table and think only this: you are not Bobby. You will never be Bobby.
You don’t. So she stopped trying. Until her dead husband’s older brother called her and said, I have someone I’d like you to meet, and she demurred, and then he said, He’s a widower, his wife was killed in a car accident three years ago, and she thought, What the hell, and so they had one dinner and he made you laugh with his unexpected sarcasm and old-fashioned manners, then they had another and he made you laugh again, and then they had a few more dinners and then he met your kids. . . .
“Have you spoken to Peter lately?”
Wade’s question suggests news of some kind.
“No, not really. Why?”
“I think he and Lindsay are going through a rough patch.”
“Bullshit. The Stepford couple?”
“I think so.”
He sounds grim, like a doctor giving an unfavorable prognosis. Tina wonders whether Gail knows. Peter’s the successful son, lives in Westchester, partner at a law firm. Gail always jokes that he’s gone lace curtain, but she’d be crushed if something actually impinged on his perfect life. Marital problems are for people like Stephanie and Vinny, not Peter and Lindsay.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, it’s not that. I just hope I didn’t put too much on Gail’s plate today. And Peter’s the golden boy, never does anything wrong.”
He reaches over and grips her hand.
“Sorry.”
Stephanie’s teasing has stuck in Tina’s head; she was trying to turn this into something base, something vulgar. Not sex but money, Stephanie rubbing her fingers together. Tina looks out the front windshield and sees the blue span of the Verrazano approaching.
“Do you care if we don’t go to Per Se?”
“I guess not but . . .”
“Get off at this exit. Here. Now.”
The urgency in her voice surprises her.
“Jesus.”
He swerves toward the Lily Pond Avenue exit, cutting in front of a low-slung Camaro. Tina watches the car’s passenger window slide down. A Hispanic teen in a Yankees hat nonchalantly gives them the finger as the car reaccelerates away from them and climbs toward the bridge.
“We have to cross over. Go back the other way. Make a left here.”
Wade makes the left and after a few hundred feet, he pulls onto the shoulder, puts the car in park, and turns on the blinkers. They are parked underneath the on-ramp to the bridge, a half mile of quasi-tunnel. A few cars zip past, but the traffic is light.
“Where the fuck are we going?”
His usually placid face is curled with annoyance. Tina hasn’t ever seen him angry. She unbuckles her seat belt, leans over, and kisses him, shoving her tongue into his mouth. His anger fades and he responds in kind. She pulls away, a little, so their eyes are inches apart.
“Only to get the best fucking pizza in the world.”
She kisses him again, closes her eyes, and lets the world narrow to the entwining of their tongues.
* * *
Denino’s is packed. A throng of people stand in the crammed entryway, waiting to be seated. Families spill into one another at long planks of connected tables. Crews of oversize men squeeze into booths. A large group of teenagers sits in prim tribute to times gone by: girls on one side of the table, boys on the other, the space between them heavy with hormones. Old and young, sweaters and jeans, earrings and chains, pitchers of beer and soda, silver plates with bubbling pies, the air thick with the smell of garlic and oregano. A raucous, semicommunal pizza party; every soul in the room content.
Tina and Wade slide past the crowd in the hall. The woman at the hostess stand—ancient, white-haired, Italian—gives Wade the once-over before taking his name. Wade navigates them to an empty stool at the bar, turns it so Tina can sit, stands next to her as they wait. He orders a pitcher of Bud. Every few minutes the music stops and a name is announced. Esposito, party of four. Esposito, party of four. The bar is packed. A few of the guys glance at Wade, scoping the jacket and tie. He stands out, no doubt, tall and upright in a room of stocky and hunched, but if Wade feels out of place, he doesn’t show it. Tina is overdressed as well, but no one seems to notice or care. When the pitcher arrives, Wade has to take out his wallet to pay. Tina can’t help thinking that Bobby would have had a twenty already in hand.
Crowley, party of eleven. Crowley, party of eleven.
“So this is the famous Denino’s,” Wade says as he fills their glasses.
“Peter used to talk about it, I guess,” says Tina.
“Oh, just a little.”
“It’s n
ot Per Se, I know.”
Wade loosens his tie, unfastens the top button on his shirt.
“That’s okay. After the make-out session in the car, White Castle would have been fine.”
Tina laughs, feels giddy. She nearly crawled on top of Wade in the car and got the act itself over with, out of the way. Another obstacle removed. But she held back, a grown woman’s urges losing out to the vaguely virginal desire to mark the first occasion as special. The truth is that he does it for her, excites her in that way, in a way that no one since Bobby has, even though it’s for different reasons. She reaches a hand over, puts it on his chest.
“I feel like I’m back in high school or something.”
“Shit, I wish I knew you in high school.”
She laughs again. Wade flashes a thin, crafty smile, satisfied that he can amuse her.
“No, you don’t. I was a prude.”
Donato, party of six. Donato, party of six.
Tina finishes her beer. Wade refills her glass. A few minutes drift by. The smell of the place has woken her stomach. She’s hungry, hasn’t really eaten all day. The beer is already affecting her, her mind is floating alongside the hum of the room.
Alderson, party of two. Alderson, party of two.
“That’s us.”
They walk back to the hostess stand, Wade holding the half-empty pitcher and their glasses. The ancient woman walks them to a small booth, does a perfunctory wipe of the tabletop, and drops a stack of paper plates and silverware on the table. A waitress in a black T-shirt comes over. Wade defers to Tina.
Tina orders: a pepperoni pie, another pitcher of beer. Wade removes his tie completely, tucks it into an interior pocket in his jacket.
“What kind of name is Alderson anyway?”
“High WASP. My father’s people came over on the Mayflower, but my mother was off the boat from County Leitrim. Came here by herself when she was nineteen.”
Tina smiles. Stephanie was right; she must have a thing for Irish guys. Or half-Irish guys. She waits for Wade to continue, to explain how his parents met, but he doesn’t say any more. She is unaccustomed to having to ask questions about the parents of the man she’s dating. Every man she ever dated, his whole life was right in front of her. In plain sight. Nothing needed to be said. It was simply known. This is another thing she likes about Wade: there are things she doesn’t know.
Wade is looking around the room, soaking it all in.
“My mother would have loved this place.”
The pizza arrives with an abrupt clatter; the waitress slings a grease-stained pizza stand in the middle of the table and drops a tray on it. She slides a container of Parmesan cheese and a container of red pepper flakes under the tray. The cheese on the pizza sizzles; the pepperoni have curled into tiny basins of oil.
“Careful, that tray is hot,” the waitress chides as she whirls away.
Tina slides a slice onto a paper plate, blows on it, and hands it to Wade.
“Give it a minute. You’ll burn the top of your mouth if you eat it now.”
He does as she says. He takes a bite of the drooping angle of the slice.
“Verdict?”
“Delicious.”
“Not good enough. Best you’ve ever had?”
“The best I ever had?”
“Yeah. Say it.”
“I’m not sure. Pepe’s in New Haven is . . .”
Tina picks up a fork, brandishes it in the direction of his eyes.
“I’ll tell you what, Tina. It’s the best damn pizza I ever had.”
* * *
After dinner, they walk slowly up a sloping street to where the car is parked. It’s misting out, a rain so fine that it doesn’t fall so much as hover. When they get into the car, they kiss until he pulls away.
“I’m not sure what that was about,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I feel like that was some kind of test.”
Tina feels embarrassed at her transparency. She stammers a soft disagreement.
“Not exactly.”
“It’s okay if it was. But you should tell me what you’re thinking, what’s bothering you.”
“I guess we should have just gone to Per Se.”
Wade brings his hand to her cheek, draws her eyes up and away from the floor of the car.
“Tina, it’s okay that we didn’t go to Per Se. I’m glad we came here. So is my wallet. But I’m not entirely sure where your head is. I’m thinking maybe we pushed this too fast too soon for you.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that you’re very different from Bobby and that’s a good thing. I just wanted to know that you were alike in some ways too.”
“Okay, so it was a test?”
She doesn’t recognize the look on his face.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
He looks out over the dashboard. A family passes on the sidewalk, the father carrying a grease-stained white paper bag with leftover slices. Wade puts the key in the ignition, turns on the wipers.
“So, how’d I do?” he asks.
“You ate five slices of pizza.”
“So?”
“I like a man who leaves empty plates in his wake.”
Wade kisses her, a long passionate kiss intended as a prelude. His hand slides up the outside of her dress, to the base of her breast. Tina feels a flutter in her stomach. Outside the car, a few teenage boys hoot as they walk by in hoodies and jeans, oblivious to the rain. Wade leans over and honks his horn, startling the onlookers. They laugh up the street, gesticulating and hollering back at the car. Tina whispers in his ear.
“Take me home.”
He looks disappointed for a beat until she clarifies.
“Your home.”
* * *
The drive into Manhattan is agonizing. The rain picks up and the traffic slows. There’s an accident on the BQE, closing a lane. Tina has too much time to think about what’s going to happen. The flutter in her stomach turns into a pit. She calls Stephanie to check in, make sure the kids are all right. She whispers, pretends she’s in a restaurant. They’re fine, of course, and how is Per Se? Out of this world, another course just arrived, let me run. Wade raises an eyebrow when she hangs up.
“Don’t ask.”
The traffic thickens to a derby at the rise in the BQE just before the Battery Tunnel; four lanes of cars jostle, connive, and try to funnel their way down to two. During the week, tempers would flare, but Saturday night is more patient. The city is right in front of everyone, the night still impossibly young.
Wade lives in Battery Park City. Tina knows this route well: after this merge, the steady crawl under the Promenade, the right onto the Brooklyn Bridge, staying right to take the FDR downtown. Getting to the city this way is a test of nerves: get right but spend as little time as possible in the right. You have to push and probe, test the resolve of others, flirt with collisions at every second. It’s a miracle there aren’t more accidents. She hates driving in the city, but it’s more than that tonight.
They will drive and not see what should be there. She will not look so she doesn’t see what isn’t there, what should be there. They will drive around Ground Zero, trace a little semicircle around Bobby’s grave. They will both try not to think about what is not in front of them. The tension in her body vibrates up and out of her, into the car, pulsing in the air.
The car has passed the crest of the hill; Wade needs to get over one more lane, needs a Good Samaritan or someone texting or a stalled car.
She can’t do this.
“Wade, please . . .”
A guy in a busted Taurus slows down, lets a space open between his car and the bus in front of him, waves them in.
“Wade, I think I need to go home.”
“What?”
A van with
Chinese lettering on its side accelerates on their left, then abruptly veers in front of them, an insane dash across two lanes into the waiting space. Wade hits the brakes. Tina slides forward, but Wade reaches one hand over and corrals her in place. A few horns honk. The offending van is absorbed, part of the stream of traffic. The space closes.
“Oh, fuck this,” Wade says, and then steers the car left, away from the throng, toward the empty toll booths for the Battery Tunnel. With his right hand, he searches the center console for an E-ZPass. He winks at Tina.
“I think we can spring for the toll. The bread at Per Se would have cost as much.”
Tina pushes a long breath out. The car pauses at the booth and then glides down to the mouth of the tunnel.
“What were you saying?” he asks.
“Nothing,” Tina says. “Never mind.”
The car shoots into the tunnel, a blur of white tiles.
* * *
It’s bad before it’s good. They have to stop twice because Tina is overwhelmed and doesn’t think she can do it. When they’re naked together for the first time, she recoils from Wade’s touch and turns away from him. She cries because despite it all—the years and the loneliness and the mourning, how she felt in the car earlier and what she wants to do now, the breeziness fueled by a few pitchers of beer, the knowledge that she’s waited and been faithful, not just to Bobby but to his memory, been respectful and decent beyond what others expected, beyond what others did, that she’s been a widow worthy of a hero because that’s what Bobby is, will always be, despite the fact that she loves, actually loves, the man she’s lying next to, and he loves her, she knows that too, even though she’s not sure why, despite the fact that she’s entitled to this, that she’s earned this—despite all of that, she still feels shame, still feels this is a betrayal.
Wade is patient and kind and does nothing wrong. After a few minutes, he reaches for her naked back, leans to whisper something soothing in her ear, and she hears a shrill pantomime of her normal voice snap in the air.
“Don’t touch me.”
Tina feels the warmth of his body retreat, hears his breath, still patient, on the other side of the bed. The tears swell into body-wracking sobs. She pulls her knees up to her breasts. Whenever she closes her eyes, a different image of Bobby appears: playing basketball as a teenager, at the bar of the Leaf ordering a round, holding Alyssa in the hospital, in his gear at the firehouse. She opens her eyes, focuses her gaze on a spot on the wall. She tries to banish all memories from her mind. Before she can be with Wade, she has to be alone, has to be without Bobby.
