by W E DeVore
Q laughed to herself and went to the bar to pour her own glass of wine while Ben and Constance sat on the couch with the wine and cheese that her grandmother had set out for just the two of them, apparently. Just like every other woman in his immediate and extended family, Constance doted on him. Q joined them on the couch, curling next to Ben.
“When are you going to give me a grandbaby to spoil?” Constance asked Ben.
He shook his head. “Not really up to me, darlin’. I’m not the one that has to do all the work. Q’s got some great things happening right now. We’re going to wait a few years.” He smiled at his wife. “Besides, I’m not in a rush to share my wife with anyone else.”
“That’s quite a turnaround, mister.” Q kissed him on the cheek.
“Music will keep, Clementine,” Constance scolded. “You only have so many years left to give me a grandbaby.”
Q mimicked her grandmother’s thick cosmopolitan accent that made her sound more like she’d grown up nearer to the Hudson River than the Mississippi. “Yes, mah dahlin’, but da music makes your granddahtah happy, screamin’ children don’t.”
Constance smiled at her granddaughter and said, “Why do you think we hired Mavis in the first place?”
The doorbell rang, and Constance snapped her fingers. “That’ll be the Rabbi.”
Ben rolled his eyes at Q and heaved a heavy sigh.
“Thought you were off the hook, didn’t you, Bordelon,” she said, sipping her wine.
While Constance adored Ben, she was thoroughly convinced she’d adore him more if he converted to Judaism and became a proper member of the Toledano tribe. Should that happen prior to the arrival of any grandchildren, even better. Since their wedding, Rabbi Eller had nearly been a fixture at any Toledano family gathering that Ben and Q attended.
As they sat down to dinner, Rabbi Eller turned to Q and said, “Constance says you know Stanley Gerard. Rabbi Nierman asked me if you would mind making an introduction. He tried to talk to him at his son’s funeral, but he wasn’t allowed.”
“Nierman, that schmuck,” Constance muttered.
“Bubbe!” Q scolded. “He’s an Orthodox rabbi, would you just let it go, already?”
“What happened with the Orthodox rabbi?” Ben asked.
“Bubbe made a scene at the JCC when he said he wouldn’t shake her hand because he didn’t touch women who weren’t his wife,” Q explained.
“I did not make a scene,” Constance corrected. “I just told him that him refusing to shake my hand was ridiculous. I haven’t menstruated in years. I mean, that’s why that ridiculous rule exists. I will never understand why men are so terrified of a menstruating woman.”
Q glanced at Rabbi Eller. “Bubbe, do you really think this an appropriate dinner topic?”
She ignored her and stared hard at Ben. “Ben, dahlin’, are you afraid of menstruation.”
Because Q knew how much information his sisters shared with him about the ins and outs of everything from properly applying eyeliner to yeast infections, she wasn’t surprised when her husband was indifferent to the question.
“Bubbe, I grew up with four sisters and we all shared one bathroom. I ain’t afraid of anything. No one was home when Gracie got her first period and she insisted on using a tampon like the older ones. I had to talk her through it.”
Rabbi Eller said, “My middle girl was like that, too. Luckily, I convinced her to wait for her mother. Don’t think I could have made it through that discussion. You’re a brave man, Ben.”
He shook his head. “I’m not brave. I just don’t see anything to be uncomfortable about.”
“Don’t let Rabbi Nierman hear you say that,” Constance said.
Q eyed her lasagna in distaste and changed the subject, asking Rabbi Eller, “Why does Rabbi Nierman want to talk to Stanley?”
Rabbi Eller said, “Mr. Gerard’s son, was studying with him. He came to him four or five months ago. Said his girlfriend couldn’t marry him unless he converted. Joel was concerned when Savion stopped coming to their meetings and when he read about his death in the paper, he wanted to offer some support if Savion’s father or girlfriend needed it.”
He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He handed it to Q. “That’s his cell number. He wanted you to give it to Mr. Gerard. Tova, too. And tell them to call him, anytime, if they need anything at all.”
Q suddenly grew excited at the thought of discovering who Savion’s secret lover was. “Savion’s girlfriend’s name was Tova? Tova what?”
“Joel couldn’t remember. Just that her Hebrew name was Tova and she was from Memphis. Her father is a cantor. Apparently, she was raised Orthodox.”
Should have seen that one coming.
She abruptly stood up. “Ben, baby, can I talk to you a minute?”
They excused themselves and she pulled him through the solarium and out onto the terrace.
“What’s wrong, darlin’?” he asked.
“Just how many cantor’s daughters from Memphis do we know who also knew Savion?” she asked, aggravated that his mind hadn’t made the mental leap hers had.
“Ah, fuck. I hate it when you’re right.”
Chapter 11
7th Inning Stretch
After careful consideration, Ben and Q decided that telling Sanger in person was probably the best form of delivering the news that he was not the only man with whom Tori Gerard had strayed from her marriage vows. Q had begged Ben to come with her, but he was expecting another packed house at the Cove that night, since his wife had quite literally blackmailed two of her friends’ bands to play for a quarter of their going rate, and the Cove’s liquor stock still hadn’t recovered from the second appearance of Q and Derek on stage together.
Q skipped up the steps to Sanger’s small cement porch and pounded out ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame’ on his front door. He finally answered the door in a pair of fitted boxers right when Q’s knuckles were root, root, rooting for the home team. As usual, the totality of Aaron Sanger’s well-developed muscle groups made her blush.
“Jesus, Aaron, we’ve talked about this. Put away the gun show, already. Why aren’t you dressed?” she asked, slipping between him and the door frame.
“What are you doing here, Clementine?” He turned and folded his arms, leaning against the door.
“Baseball. You. Me. Beers. Hot dogs. Yes?” she replied.
“You’re early.”
“I’m barely thirty minutes early and I have to talk you. You might be off the hook, cowboy,” she said, walking towards the couch. “Go get dressed and I’ll buy you a daiquiri; even one of the girly ones you like so much, and I promise not to make fun of you.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down. “Shit, Clementine. I’m going to have to pass…”
Q sat down on the couch and instantly discovered the reason Sanger wasn’t dressed yet.
“Aaron, why are there lacey red panties on your coffee table?” she asked, staring at the evidence of Sanger’s late night activities.
“Like I said, you’re early.” He walked across the room and scooped up the proof of his guilt.
She bounced to her feet. “Ah fuck, Sanger. Why didn’t you tell me she was here?”
“You didn’t give me much of a chance,” he said, pushing her back towards the door. “Get out of here, will you?”
She stopped short and turned to face him. “Sanger, I have to talk to you. It’s important…”
He opened the door and shoved her onto the porch. “Go. Wait for me at the coffee shop. I’ll be over in a while.”
Sanger shut the door on her and turned the deadbolt. Q hopped off the low stoop and walked to the next block, crossing the street to Sanger’s neighborhood café. She ordered an iced tea and sat at an outside table, enjoying the breeze and the perfect-for-baseball weather that rarely happened in June in New Orleans, hoping that the news she had for Sanger was actually good and wouldn’t throw him into another downward spiral. Th
e fact that Yvonne Bordelon was naked in his bed at the moment made her job slightly easier.
So, when she saw his front door open and Tori Gerard emerge onto his porch wearing the same clothes she’d been wearing at Stanley’s studio the night before, she was crestfallen. When she saw Sanger pull Tori to him and kiss her for twenty solid seconds, she was enraged.
She finished her iced tea, watching Sanger climb into his truck and Tori walk towards her car in the opposite direction. He pulled up next to Q and rolled down his window.
“Ready for some baseball, Clementine?”
“Fuck you,” she said, walking away from him. He followed alongside her.
“Get in the truck, Clementine,” he said, his voice tense.
“You promised me, Sanger, you fucking promised me.”
She stopped walking and put her hands on her hips to face him.
“It’s not what you think, Clementine,” he said.
“You sure about that? Because it looks to me like Stanley Gerard’s wife left her husband’s house last night to come to yours and the two of you did something on your couch that didn’t require the use of her underpants,” she snapped at him and turned to walk away. “I wonder what that could possibly be.”
He jumped out of the truck, leaving the engine running and the door ajar. He grabbed her arm to stop her.
“Don’t you fucking lecture me, Clementine,” he yelled. “I’m not in the mood.”
She glared at him. “Not in the mood? You’re not in the mood? You just fucked around on my sister with a dying man’s wife, but you’re not in the mood for a fucking lecture on morality. I’m so sorry I insulted your delicate sensibilities, Sanger. Where are my manners?”
He pulled her closer and said in a low whisper. “What the hell are you talking about, Clementine?”
She looked around to make sure they hadn’t attracted a crowd and said, “I thought we talked about this. Stanley will be dead in a few months and then you can fuck his widow six ways from Sunday and twice on Thursdays, until then you were supposed to keep your goddamned dick your pants. How could you do this to Yvie?”
“I didn’t do anything to Yvie, Clementine. We broke up. I called her yesterday morning and ended it. How could you think I’d do that to someone?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve been doing it to Stanley for two months.”
“Fuck off, Clementine. Tori’s having my baby. We’re going to be a family. This is how this works. It’s the right thing to do.”
“Yeah, Tori’s got a real strong moral compass pointing towards the right thing to do,” Q said, sarcastically.
“What in the hell is that supposed to mean, Clementine? You said it yourself. You can’t help when you fall in love with someone, sometimes it just happens. Sometimes you can’t stop it no matter how hard you try.”
“Is that what she told you?” she asked. “Did she also happen to mention that Savion had a Jewish girlfriend whose Hebrew name was Tova. Tova, the daughter of an Orthodox cantor from Memphis. Tova, who he started seeing about the same time he and his dad had a big fight and Stanley changed his will to leave everything to Tori. Tova, who broke up with him about the same time Stanley found out he was dying. What’s your baby mama’s Hebrew name again?”
Sanger ran both of his hands over his head and screamed, “Fuck!”
He kicked over a nearby garbage can and bent over, clutching his hair and covering his face with his forearms. Q watched him in concern. “Sanger, I…”
He held up his hand, stopping her from saying anything else. “No, not now. We’re not talking about this now. We’ll talk about it at the game. This is a conversation that’s going to require beer. And hot dogs… and probably several orders of French fries.”
Q didn’t move, and he shoved her towards the truck. “Get in the damn truck, Clementine.”
“Don’t you fucking shove me,” she barked at him.
He wiped away the remaining anger from his face with his hand. “Please, Clementine. Get in the truck. I’m sorry.”
“You sure as fuck are,” she muttered, but she climbed into the open driver’s side door and slid to the other side. As they drove out to Zephyr Stadium, she turned on the bench seat to face him, resting her head back against the window.
“Go ahead and say it,” he said without looking at her.
“You’re a whore,” she snapped.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“And a liar.”
“Come on, you can do better than that,” he said, calmly.
“And I’m really disappointed in you. You’re supposed to be a good and decent man, Aaron,” she said desolately.
He exhaled slowly, shame washing over him. “Yep. That’s the one I was waiting for.”
◆◆◆
They sat down after singing the National Anthem and Q leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees. She took a large bite of her hot dog.
“Way to keep your promise, cowboy,” she said without looking at him.
“The situation changed,” he said. “I want a family, Clementine. I want something that’s mine. You’re right. I’m on my own too much and I just can’t abandon Tori. I thought I could, but she needs me. I know Stanley is your friend and you love him, but I do love his wife and I’m going to love our child.”
She wanted to hurt him for breaking his promise; for betraying their friendship. But she found she couldn’t muster the righteous indignation to do it. Her love for him and her concern for his well-being outweighed the objections she had against his recent behavior.
She elbowed him in the ribs and said, “You sure you and Ben couldn’t be persuaded to change teams? Because, if you two settled down together and raised that family you’re both so keen on having, it would save me a whole lot of trouble.”
He laughed out loud before saying, “On a scale of one to ten, how bad did I fuck up with you this morning?”
“Negative six, cowboy. I shouldn’t have said those things. I want you to be happy, Aaron. And you were right. You can’t help when you fall in love with someone or even if you fall in love with someone. Unfortunately for you, I don’t think you’re the only man Tori’s had that problem with.”
“She wouldn’t do that,” he said firmly, shaking his head slowly.
“Really? She doesn’t seem like the type of woman to fuck around on her husband to you? You sure about that, detective?”
Sanger glowered at her and didn’t respond.
She let out all the air in her lungs before inhaling deeply and saying in a single breath, “Tori and Savion were having an affair. Probably started around the time Savion and his dad had that big fight. Sometime last summer. She broke it off last fall around the time Stanley found out he was sick, then it seems like they started up again this spring,” she said, taking another large bite of her hot dog. “And she may or may not have been seeing the two of you at the same time.”
He set his jaw. “That’s not right. You don’t know her, not like I do.”
She reached down and picked up her beer. “You might have known Tori Stone – that girl you grew up with - real well, but I don’t think you know Tori Gerard as well as you think you do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He turned to face her.
Q set her hotdog down in her seat’s cup holder and wiped her hands on her napkin. “Ben and I went to Bubbe’s last night for dinner. Rabbi Eller was there.”
Sanger’s posture relaxed, and he reached below his seat to remove the cardboard container holding his own hotdog. He opened it and took a bite.
He grinned at her. “Still trying to get him converted, is she?”
She gave him a wry smile. “What do you think? Before we left for dinner, I talked to Stanley. Savion was dating Lorene, the audio engineer, last spring until he started running around on her last summer. About the same time, he bragged to his uncle that he was following in Stanley’s footsteps and sleeping with a married woman.”
“Y
our mathlete sounds charming,” Sanger said with derision.
“Think I might have dodged a bullet there,” she agreed. “Anyway, Ben and I are at dinner later and Rabbi Eller tells me that the Rabbi Nierman called him after Savion died and asked him to give his number to me to pass along to Stanley, and Savion’s girlfriend. Apparently, Savion had started converting a few months back because he wanted to marry his Jewish girlfriend,” she explained.
“So? There are lots of Jewish women in New Orleans, Clementine. You and Tori aren’t the only ones.”
“Lots of Jewish women who are married, and whose fathers are Orthodox cantors, and who grew up in Memphis, and whose Hebrew names are also Tova?” she asked matter-of-factly.
He regarded his hotdog and fought to finish his bite, throwing down the remainder in disgust. “How did you know Tori’s Hebrew name?”
“Lucky guess. Urian told me Savion called his woman, ‘Goodness.’”
Sanger cursed under his breath, knowing full well what the English translation of Tova was.
“Stanley is loaded, Aaron. His publishing rights are worth millions. Tori gets nothing, not even her business, if she leaves him or is unfaithful. It’s in the prenup. If he dies, she gets everything. Savion would have inherited all the publishing and royalties until they had that fight, then Stanley changed his will and left it all to Tori.” Q turned to look at him. “Stanley told me all about it. You want to know what else he told me last night?”
“I have a feeling that the answer is ‘no,’ but go on.”
“Tori is pregnant. Twelve weeks just. He found out the day after Savion’s funeral. Also, it’s a little bit of a miracle, because he had a vasectomy thirty odd years ago after Savion’s mother almost died in childbirth. He knows the baby isn’t his, but he doesn’t want to spend the few months he has left in a divorce court. So, he’s just changing the will back. Tori gets what she would have gotten originally, but no publishing. That all goes to charity now.”
