But he hadn’t recognized the hole that existed in his life before he met Suzanne. His feelings for her ran deeper than he’d ever thought possible. The day the two homicide detectives showed up at his door, he had realized he was more concerned over Suzanne’s feelings than those of his wife. Even his daughter’s paled in comparison. In fact, it had already occurred to him that if Giovanna found out about Suzanne, maybe she’d ask him for the divorce. He’d penciled out how much he was willing to give her. It was a lot more than he would have ever considered before Suzanne, but no price was too high to pay to have her in his life.
He dialed her number. The very sound of her voice turned him into a dog pining over a sirloin in the butcher’s window. ‘What time are you coming over? I picked up a little surprise at the lingerie shop around the corner,’ she teased. ‘I’m wearing it right now. Well, barely wearing it.’
His skin prickled and he fought hard not to feel cheated. ‘There’s a slight dilemma. I may not be able to make it tonight.’ Before he could elaborate, the door opened and his daughter walked into his office. Her dark hair was piled up on her head and she wore a pair of cut-offs that he wished were several inches longer.
‘Daddy, we need to talk.’
He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. ‘Not now, Anna. Business.’ She gave him an impatient look and flopped into a chair to wait. When he realized she wasn’t going to leave, he uncovered the phone and spoke in a formal tone, ‘Something’s come up, Bob? Can I get back to you?’
The phone went wordlessly dead in his ear.
Vince turned back to his daughter. He wanted to be angry with her for disturbing him while he was talking to Suzanne, but it was impossible. She ruled his heart too.
‘What is it, sweetheart?’
‘Sorry to interrupt your business, Daddy.’ Was it him or was that irony lacing her voice? ‘Mom’s upstairs crying. She says you refuse to go to the Arts Club gala with her tonight. You know how much those things mean to her. She bought a table. She’ll be humiliated in front of her friends if you don’t go.’
‘I told your mother, I made a business commitment, sweetie.’ He didn’t sound very convincing – even to himself.
Anna came around behind his chair and massaged his neck. ‘Daddy, please. You don’t need to do business tonight. Please go with Mom. Please.’
He looked up into his daughter’s pleading eyes and realized he couldn’t fight both mother and daughter. He would be free someday, but it sure wasn’t going to be tonight. His partial erection deflated as he realized Suzanne’s surprise would have to wait.
‘All right, I’ll go. But under one condition. You must promise to buy the rest of the shorts next time.’
‘I will, Daddy. I promise.’
Anna stopped rubbing his neck and headed toward the door. As he watched her move, soft flesh dressed in the tight shorts, her breasts pushing against her flared top, his father’s heart skipped its usual beat. She was too young and trusting to be shaped that way.
‘Wait,’ Vince called out. She stopped and turned back toward him, ‘What are you doing tonight, sweetie?’ he asked, wanting to freeze the moment while they still loved each other unconditionally and were still one happy family.
‘I’m going out with Sal.’
His mood darkened again as he thought of the fast-talking West Sider she was seeing. He wanted to forbid her to see him, but that time was long gone. ‘Well, have fun, but not too much fun,’ he conceded. All Vince could hope was that she wasn’t sleeping with him.
‘Yes, Daddy.’ She gave him an odd smile. ‘I’ll tell Mom to put your tux out.’
He waited until he heard her footsteps going up the stairs before calling Suzanne back. ‘Sorry about cutting you short, but it was my daughter. As it turns out I’m not going to be able to see you tonight. Seems I have a command performance at a charity function. I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said. ‘With the new unemployment figures coming out next week, I was on the phones all day and I’m beat anyhow. Guess I’ll order a Canadian-bacon-and-pineapple pizza and eat it in front of the TV watching something mindless.’
It slayed him that she didn’t sound disappointed that she wouldn’t be seeing him. He had expected at least a little anger on her part, an indication she was as miserable without him as he was without her. But instead she seemed unperturbed. Not wanting to let her go yet, he prolonged the conversation, asking, ‘A Canadian-bacon-and-pineapple pizza? Where do you get that?’
‘From Parducci’s.’
‘Parducci’s? The place on Huron? Now you’re making my mouth water over food almost as much as it does over you. While you’re enjoying your pizza think of me chewing a piece of overcooked beef and listening to some bore talk about why I should empty my pockets for the cause. I’ll be wishing I was with you the whole time. Can I see you tomorrow?’
‘You know I’ve got Maggie’s wedding tomorrow. I’ll see you on Sunday.’
Sunday. There was some conflict on Sunday, but what was it? The answer glared at him from his calendar. Brunch at the club with his wife and daughter. He had promised and he couldn’t break his promise a second time. His heart sank at the thought of missing another Sunday morning in Suzanne’s bed.
‘I can’t wait until Sunday,’ he said, struck with a sudden inspiration. ‘How about tomorrow morning? I’ll come get you early. We can go out on my boat and look at the skyline. I promise to get you back in plenty of time to get ready for the wedding.’
‘I never knew you had a boat.’
‘You didn’t? Yeah, it’s in Belmont Harbor. Just brought it out of dry dock a couple of days ago,’ he lied. The truth was the boat had been in its slip for a couple of weeks. He’d never mentioned the boat before because he never used it. It had been an anniversary gift to Giovanna because she thought they should have a boat. It turned out that neither his wife nor his daughter loved being out on the water, so it sat idle most of the time. Lately he had been thinking of selling it, as the upkeep was ridiculous, but now he was glad he hadn’t. The thought of making love to Suzanne offshore was irresistible, trumping any concern over violating a family trust.
‘All right. You’re on my calendar for tomorrow morning, Mr Columbo. But we have to put in early …’
Did she really say that? ‘That will be fine, Ms Lundgren. Don’t forget to bring that little surprise you were going to show me. And Suzanne …’
‘Yes?’
‘I … well, I’ll tell you tomorrow.’
‘I can’t wait.’
‘I can’t wait either.’ He held the phone to his ear long after she hung up as if it might help keep the connection to her. Speaking into the dead line, he added, ‘Suzanne, I love you.’
He unlocked the bottom drawer and took out the strongbox where he kept the boat keys. They sat atop the pile of cash, attached to a little yellow buoy. He put them back in the strongbox and locked it back in the drawer. Then he headed reluctantly upstairs to dress for the evening of torture.
He was so distracted he didn’t see his daughter huddled in the game room just outside his office, behind the unfinished bar.
‘This is Parducci’s on Huron. Can I help you?’
‘Hi, I just ordered a pineapple-and-bacon pizza. I wondered if I gave you the right address.’
‘Lundgren? 1025 Lake Shore Drive? Apartment 4025?’
‘That’s it. How long did you say it was going to take?’
‘About an hour and a half. Sorry, we’re really buried tonight.’
‘You know what, just cancel my order. I’ll go out for something.’
‘Will do. Have a nice evening.’
Anna Columbo hung up the phone feeling very pleased with herself.
FORTY-THREE
Wedding Eve
The massive triple doors of Holy Name Cathedral rose before me, the church the European-style showpiece of the Chicago archdiocese. It had taken a lot of string-pulling, not to mention an obscenely generous don
ation on my father’s behalf, to get a June wedding date on relatively short notice. Some people waited years. I took the steps one leaden foot after another. Upon reaching the top I hesitated, trying to prolong the moment in time. It was so humid the air clung to my skin like wet cheesecloth. Taking a last damp breath to fortify myself, I opened a heavy wooden door and stepped into the cool, dark vestibule.
I blessed myself with holy water and walked into the church, the echo of my heels making the empty cathedral larger than it already was. I sat down in the last pew and took in the magnificence of the sacred place where my wedding was to take place the next day. It was pure Gothic Revival with pink marble columns ascending to a vaulted ceiling inlaid with gold. Floor-to-ceiling stained-glass windows filtered the evening sun. Christ kept watch over me from a golden cross on the distant altar. I prayed to him for both strength and forgiveness.
The hollow sound of the doors opening rocked the silence, and I turned to see my mother and my two sisters come into the church. Ellen was holding the hand of her daughter, Olivia, the flower girl. Laurel was carrying a CD player, a headset hugging her ears. I finished my prayer and got up to greet them. My mother’s face told me how bad I looked. ‘Oh Lord, you’re not sick, are you?’ she demanded, her concern resounding through the empty church. ‘You didn’t look well the last weekend at Natasha’s, but this is worse.’
My younger sister plopped into a pew and closed her eyes, moving her body to the music.
‘Laurel, this is a church. Put that away,’ my mother snapped. She put a hand to my forehead. ‘You don’t have a temperature.’
‘I told you, I’m fine,’ I repeated, knowing I was anything but.
‘Hi, stranger,’ said Ellen, touching her cheek to mine. ‘We would have been here earlier, but traffic into the city was inhumane. I’ll bet you everyone’s going to be late.’
Fine, I thought. More time to contemplate my suicide.
Flynn’s younger sister, Nan, was the next to arrive, her face flushed and red from the heat. She shared her brother’s blonde hair and cornflower-blue eyes, but unlike Flynn, who was fit and trim, Nan was plump with a full second chin and sausage-like arms that had grown after her semester overseas. Getting her bridesmaid gown fitted from Italy had been a nightmare with her having to call in her changing measurements several times. She drew me to her in a damp hug.
‘I’m so excited,’ she said in a squeaky-girl voice. ‘I picked up my dress today and it fits perfectly. Everything is going to be so gorgeous.’
Another pang of relentless conscience. Nan had made it abundantly clear how honored she was to be standing up in the wedding. I thought about the $700 bridesmaid’s dresses of lilac silk and the cloth shoes tediously dyed to match. I thought about my own $3,000 virginal white dress hanging on a special rack in my former bedroom, awaiting its fleeting moment in the spotlight before being relegated to preservation. I thought about the $80-a-plate veal chop with wild rice and seasonal vegetables, and the $20 per glass Taittinger toast. The band. The flowers. The personalized napkins.
Most of all, I thought about Flynn.
I prayed for some disaster to deliver me from my unhappy task. Like a tornado ripping off the top of the church or an earthquake crumbling it to its very foundation. If not that, then a sniper’s bullet striking me as I exited the church after the rehearsal would do quite nicely.
All such wistful thought came to an abrupt end as Flynn made a noisy arrival, flanked by his rambunctious entourage from Dartmouth, the roar of their voices threatening to dislodge the gold from the vaulted ceilings. Toady Cornwall, the best man, and Bart Pierce, one of the groomsmen, were making age-old stupid jokes about marriage being an institution and who would want to be in an institution. They came over to me en masse, leaving me feeling like I had just stepped into a frat party. Doing my best to resurrect a personality, I tried joking with them and was failing miserably when I saw Carol Anne slip into the back of the church and take a seat.
I excused myself to have a word with her. Carol Anne looked like she hadn’t slept well either. I put an understanding hand on her arm and asked, ‘How are you doing?’
‘I’ll live. Michael and I had more discussion. This time he swore he’s going to get help and not just give me lip service, so I’ve agreed to try and work things out. How about you?’
‘Let me put it this way. Don’t bother paying too much attention to Father Jennings instructions,’ I whispered.
‘The test was positive?’
I shook my head. ‘I didn’t take it. I don’t need to.’
‘Oh, Maggie.’ True friend that she was, Carol Anne shared my anguish. ‘When are you going to tell him?’
‘After this charade, I guess. I tried to do it today, but I couldn’t get him alone.’
Tears welled in Carol Anne’s eyes, but I stopped her. ‘Don’t go there. I’m having a hard enough time as it is.’ I gave her hand a hard squeeze. ‘Promise me you’ll still be my friend. You may be my only one.’
‘Here’s my blushing bride,’ said Flynn, interrupting us. His smile faded when he saw how haggard I looked, but he recovered quickly. ‘We’ve been looking for you.’
‘Always,’ said Carol Anne touching my arm as Flynn led me away.
My father had arrived, tall and distinguished looking, his graying hair slightly receded, his round tortoiseshell eyeglasses pressed high up his nose. He had come from his law offices in the Loop and his navy suit and blue tie remained perfectly pressed. I thought about all the good fatherly things he had done for me over the years. Paid for my education and the abbreviated trip to Europe; quelled my mother’s hysteria on that worst day of my life when I was caught in bed with Barry Metter. Well, the first worst day of my life. He didn’t know about the second worst. Yet.
Father Jennings came in from the rectory, dressed in priestly black with a white collar, his bald head shiny under the glow of the church lights. The middle-aged priest had a casual attitude, making him feel more like a friend than a religious leader, and my guilt multiplied thinking of all the time he had invested in pre-cana with Flynn and me. Have you discussed who will take care of the finances? Do you both feel the same way about children? Does Flynn expect to have a night out with the boys?
‘Here’s my lucky couple,’ he said, giving me a friendly kiss on the cheek and shaking Flynn’s hand. ‘Is everyone here?’
‘If they aren’t, then they’re missing out on being part of the best wedding of the year,’ said Flynn. My flesh grew goose bumps and I seriously feared I would barf.
The priest clapped his hands to quiet the crowd, and the inside of the church fell silent except for the sound of Toady’s voice, which diminished a minute later. Acting more like a stage director than a man of God, Father Jennings called out, ‘OK, people. Let’s do this so everyone can go to dinner.’
For the next agonizing hour, he walked us through the mechanics of the ceremony, sorting out people by their role, best man, maid of honor, flower girl, ring bearer. I came close to losing it when we did the run through of my father walking me down the aisle. I loved my father so much, the last thing I wanted was to hurt him too. My relationship with him while growing up had been different from that of either of my sisters. I never pouted or threw temper tantrums to get my way like Ellen had. Nor had I been like Laurel, dependent on him for everything from filling out college applications to opening her checking account. I knew he always appreciated my acceptance of things as they were, my lack of neediness. We were the same in many ways. Neither of us was complainers. We just sucked things up and did them.
My mother was tracking every move of the rehearsal, filing it away in her steel-trap brain for later analysis in order to make any needed corrections. She was one of the most organized and meticulous people on the planet, her house beautifully decorated and always immaculate, her parties always perfectly orchestrated. Her entire life revolved around order. I hoped she was up to managing the disorder that was to descend upon her soon.
&n
bsp; My eyes moved to Flynn, beaming in the combined presence of family and friends. He was such a good person, had been so good to me, that I hoped when it was all over he ended up hating me. I deserved it.
Everyone gathered in the vestibule after the rehearsal. Flynn was sorting out transportation to the Chicago Club when I took him by his arm and peeled him away.
‘Flynn, I want to ride with you. Alone. I need to talk to you.’
‘Sure, Mags,’ he said agreeably, doing his best to cover his puzzlement.
Once the last of the guests was on their way, we crossed the street together into the church parking lot. As I climbed into Flynn’s spotless Audi for what I was certain would be the last time, my heart was beating so loudly it practically muffled his voice.
‘What’s with all the mystery, Maggie?’ he asked as he pulled out onto the street.
There was no way to evade it any longer. I was through with lies. ‘Flynn, before anything else, I want you to know that I care for you deeply and this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life.’
His jaw tightened in anticipation of something unpleasant, but his eyes remained fixed on the city street, a steeplechase of stop signs, stop lights and bicycles.
Deep breaths, like in yoga. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Let it out. ‘I cheated on you. I had a one-nighter.’
The air inside the car turned dense. Flynn pulled across two lanes of traffic and screeched to a stop at the curb, nearly taking out a cyclist in the process. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white peaks. He rolled down the driver’s window, and the noise of the surrounding traffic filtered into the car, leaving us not so alone together. He didn’t look at me at first. Then ever so slowly he turned his head in my direction. Anguish flickered like buried embers in his blue eyes.
The Last Night Out Page 26
