by Rita Lakin
The girls perk up at the name. “That’s her brother, Gino,” the Don explains.
The two cops turn to the girls.
The one known as Rocco asks, “You get a good look at the perp?”
Sophie’s shoulders go up proudly. “You bet we did! Right, girls?”
Ida and Bella nod in unison.
The little notebooks come out, poised to write.
Sophie says, “Tall, maybe six feet, maybe three hundred pounds, limps, wearing a baseball cap says Mets. But with black hair showing through the little hole in the back of the cap.”
Rocco and Sal are impressed. “Nice detail,” Sal says.
Bella pokes Sophie gently on her arm. “That’s not what I saw.”
Now all eyes are on her.
She explains in her usual whispery way. “He was a little heavy, but not much. He didn’t limp; he just had a funny walk.” She imitates Charlie Chaplin. “He had a backpack on his back. It had a picture of a skateboard on it.”
They all stare at her in disbelief.
Ida’s arms cross her chest. “Gladdy would be so ashamed. You aren’t even close.” She faces the three men with great assurance. “I got it right. Thin, maybe about twenty, dirty blond hair. No hat.” She glares at the girls. “No backpack. What robbery were you watching?” Back to the cops: “Wearing jeans and sneakers.”
There is a silence in the room. Don Giovanni throws up his hands in disgust. Rocco manages a smile. “Perhaps you ladies might come down to the station and look through mug shots? At your convenience, of course.”
“Don’t worry, we will,” says Sophie, looking defiantly at Ida.
FAMILY PLOTS
Jack sits with folded arms, letting them all get it off their chests. His daughter, Lisa, keeps filling the coffee cups and the kids’ paper cups of orange juice. They couldn’t meet at Emily and Alan’s place in case Gladdy came back early. Lisa was delighted to take her turn entertaining, giving Emily and Alan a chance to see where they live, only a few shorts blocks away. Their apartments are somewhat similar; buildings built before the war still had very large rooms with high ceilings and fine moldings. Whereas Emily and Alan’s place was traditional in decor, Lisa and Dan had gone in for very modern furnishings. Both couples, however, wear the traditional Sunday stay-at-home-relaxing wear, jeans and cotton tops.
The two families are seated around the huge chrome and glass Berman dining room table, having a guilty brunch. Everyone has an aggravated point of view. All because of Jack.
“I can’t believe I’m avoiding my own mother!” Emily moans. “We’re stuffing ourselves here and I left her all alone on a Sunday morning to fend for herself. Do you know how weird that will seem to her?”
“Honey, what else can we do?” That from hubby Alan. “We’re kind of in a holding pattern.”
And the kids won’t be left out. Patrick puts his two cents in. “And you can’t even trust your own kids to keep a secret. We had to run out of the house like a bunch of chickens, wearing all our gear.”
“Yeah!” Lindsay agrees with her brother. “We’re not babies.”
“I was afraid you’d slip,” says Emily. “I didn’t even ask about my aunt Evvie. Her own sister.”
Jack’s side of the family takes their turn, Lisa first: “Dad, don’t just sit there. What should we do?”
His son-in-law the lawyer, Dan, reverts to logic. “I’m sure Jack has his reasons.”
“I can’t keep hiding from my mother,” Emily says. “I have to talk to her sometime. What are you waiting for?”
“And what are you going to do?” Lisa’s hands are on her hips defiantly.
“What are you going to tell her?” Alan asks curiously.
“And where?” Emily jumps in again.
“And how? Don’t just sit there. Say something.” Lisa, again.
All eyes turn to Jack. At the same time the kids, bored by their parents’ problem-solving, leave the table as if by prearranged signal to do more fun things.
Jack throws his arms up in self-defense. “Hey, imagine my surprise. I’m about to go home and I learn Gladdy is coming here. This is a problem for me, as well. It has to be handled delicately. I’m almost tempted to leave and deal with it when she gets back.”
“Oh, no, you don’t. Then what do we do until she goes home? We have to pretend we never saw you?” Emily isn’t about to let Jack off the hook.
“But, then again,” Jack continues, “I think I’m better off talking to her up here without her girls getting into the act.”
There’s laughter from the Levinson family. They know the girls well.
“I honestly don’t know how to handle this situation. I guess it might depend on how and where we meet. Imagine her surprise when I just pop up in front of her. And probably, shock. That will be a challenge enough.”
Emily laughs. “You used to be a cop. You know how to deal with unsuspecting perps. Catch her off guard.”
“Yeah, Dad,” adds Lisa, chuckling, “make her do all the talking.”
“Thanks a lot for your encouragement. Knowing Gladdy, I might get slapped. And I would deserve it for leaving her in the dark for so long.” Jack stands up and stretches. “Too much good food, Lisa,” he remarks to his daughter. “Telling Gladdy what I know will be the hardest part. After all these years to suddenly confront her husband’s death again? I don’t know how she’ll handle it. And I’ve failed, so what’s the point?”
Lisa says, “The point is you can’t live with lies.”
Emily nods. “Just be yourself, Jack.”
He smiles at her. “Okay, here’s a plan. Everybody have a cell phone?”
Patrick’s voice rings out from the living room. Apparently the little scoundrels can play games and listen in as well. “Who doesn’t own a cell? What a dopey question. You want my private number, too?”
Much laughter at that.
“All right. I’m not really stalling. Let’s pick a time to get together for dinner at your house tomorrow night. I need time to think about how I’ll handle this. I’ll plan to meet Gladdy sometime tomorrow afternoon and explain everything.” There’s silence at that.
Then Dan says, “That’s going to be a lot for her to absorb.”
“I know. God help me. Emily, figure out where I should ‘accidentally’ bump into her.”
“And after that shock, we throw a family dinner at her? Wow.” Lisa stares at her dad.
“Hey, I’m looking for safety in numbers. At least I’ll have all of you for protection when she starts beating me up.”
There’s smiling at that.
Jack continues. “I’ll call right after I talk to her. I’ll tell you what time we’ll be heading for Emily and Alan’s place. Give you, Lisa, and Dan, enough time to get over there. Is that plan enough?”
Long silence as the group absorb all he says. Emily stands up, struggling to get into her jacket. “I know just the place for you to meet her.”
Alan helps her get her arms in. “Now all we have to do is figure out how we get through tonight without one of us blabbing out the truth.”
“There’s only one way. We have to somehow never be alone with her. Oy.”
NEIGHBORS
I wake up at five P.M. from my long, much needed nap to hear noise once again. Sounds like everyone’s busy; everyone’s moving about doing something or other.
I walk into the kitchen. “Hi, Mom, had a good day?” asks my daughter. She is efficiently unwrapping pizzas from their plastic wrappers.
“Fine,” I say with a tad of sarcasm. “Visited all the old familiar places. And how was yours?”
“Hectic.”
Alan walks in front of both of us, takes out paper plates from a drawer. “Good nap?”
“Excellent.” What am I supposed to say? Convertible couch hard, nap bad, nightmares over the peculiar behavior of my family?
Patrick waves a DVD at me. “Grandma, seen this one? It’s called Eight Below.”
Lindsay always chimes
in after him. “It’s about dogs. And Antarctica. And they get left in a blizzard.”
“Sounds exciting.”
What follows is pillows being puffed in the living room and little portable tables being opened up and placed around the seating areas in the room. Lindsay brings paper napkins; Patrick is in charge of plastic forks. Alan fiddles around with the TV set and places the DVD in its compartment.
Emily removes a salad from the fridge and adds dressing.
“Can I help?” I ask. Am I a spoilsport for being disappointed with pizza and a movie, which seem to be the evening’s plans? Yes. I am. Whatever happened to talking? Aren’t they the least bit interested in me? Or more, about why I came to New York? They used to be thrilled to hear my tales from Florida.
“Nonsense, Mom, you’re our guest,” Emily says and pats my head as she passes me. Bringing the salad into the living room, she sets it on the coffee table.
Since when, I wonder. This is new. I’m a guest?
The doorbell rings. “Right on time,” Alan chirps.
A couple with two children enter. The adults carry covered dishes in their hands. After a flurry of greetings Emily turns to me and says brightly, “You remember the Wallers? Our neighbors, one floor down? Jean, Frank, Debbie, and Dougie?”
Maybe I met those people years ago, but I don’t remember them. “Of course.” I mimic all the cheery greetings going around. Obviously Debbie and Lindsay are great friends, as are Patrick and Dougie. The kids disappear immediately into the bedrooms, chatting away.
“Five minutes,” Alan calls after them.
Emily explains. “This is a Sunday night tradition. Take-out dinner and a movie.”
“How sweet,” I say. First I’ve ever heard of it. Emily shoots me a nervous kind of look as she brings the pizza out to join the salad and drinks on the coffee table. She is followed by Jean with her contributions of coleslaw, chips, and dips.
The men head for the fridge and do the “Let’s get a couple of beers” thing, followed by a discussion of local politics. The women get right into recipes and PTA. I feel like I’ve landed in an off- the-air TV sitcom. Everybody Loves Everybody, so where is Raymond?
And within moments these young people, who move at the speed of a rocket shooting to the moon, are all seated at their little minitables with dinner in front of them. The kids come running, fill their plates, and grab seats on the floor. Alan puts the DVD on.
“Gladdy,” Alan says, patting a space near him on the couch. “Have a seat.”
And the barking sled-dog saga begins.
So I sit there, eat a piece of pizza, already too cool. Watch a movie, pretty good if you’re into dogs and ice. Am I imagining it? No one in my family looks at me. Are they that engrossed in the evening’s entertainment?
As soon as the movie is over, I excuse myself, saying I had a long, tiring day, and go to my bedroom, which is the tiny family den. The room is small but cozy. The art collection extends in here as well, but now we have prints, and photographs, all with a New York City theme. But that’s only one wall, and includes the convertible couch. The other three have wall-to-wall built-in bookshelves, filled to the brim and indeed overflowing, not surprising from the daughter of a former librarian.
The tabletops have family photos. My favorite always has been the one taken in Central Park of my four grandchildren surrounding Grandma. The little ones, Patrick and Lindsay, are hugging me, but the teenagers, Erin and Elizabeth, are a bit more reserved. Naturally I love that one.
Once in my pajamas and robe, I pick up my cell phone and call Evvie in Westport.
“How was your ride to Connecticut?”
“Okay, nothing exciting. I napped.”
“Mine was a bit dramatic. I had a cabdriver with a gun who thought he was Arnold Schwarzenegger.”
“What? Something happened?”
“Long story for another time. It was actually an anecdote I was going to entertain my family with, but I haven’t had a minute to tell them.”
“Really?”
“I must be imagining it, but I think they are avoiding talking to me.”
“That’s weird.”
“They’re keeping something from me. I’m sure of it. My family is no longer my family. They’ve been replaced by something that grew in pea pods.”
Evvie immediately responds, “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.”
“Right. I’ll let you know when I suss it out.”
“You know, I was going to say the same thing here. When I brought up the subject about Joe and why her father left their nice comfy setup to go live in Florida alone, Martha was very vague. And you know my talkative Martha, she’s never vague about anything. I’ll do some sussing, too.”
“Keep me informed.”
“Well, the heck with them. You’re in the Big Apple, your favorite city; just go out and have a good time.”
We hang up and I just sit there nonplussed. I think about calling the girls. Or trying Jack, just to hear his voice on his machine. I ran into Morrie right before I left, and he still refused to tell me where his father was. Or maybe I should search the closets for the pods.
VILLAGE POLICE
“It’s no use,” Ida says, leaving Rocco’s office at the police station. “Besides, my eyes are crossing by now.”
Bella and Sophie have already come out of the individual offices where the mug shot books were given to them to peruse. They are sitting on chairs waiting for Ida to rejoin them.
“Me, too, I’m dizzy,” says Bella, leaning against the nearest desk.
Sophie has to agree. “Me, three. Either we missed him or he isn’t in those books. Maybe he doesn’t have a record yet.”
They have been in the police station for over an hour. The thoughtful cop provided them with doughnuts and coffee, which they didn’t refuse. Rocco comes back. “You’re fortunate, ladies, it’s pretty quiet for a Monday morning. All the weekend drunks are still sleeping it off. Sometimes it’s a zoo in here.”
Bella smiles. “I like zoos.”
“Any luck?”
The girls shake their heads. Ida says, “No. Sorry.”
They get up and stretch. Rocco leads them to the door.
Ida asks, “Do you happen to have a list of the neighborhood churches? With the names of the ones that were robbed?”
“We do.”
“Could we have a copy?” Ida continues.
He looks surprised. “I suppose I can give it to you. It’s public information. Any reason you want it?”
Ida gives him a big, toothy smile. “Oh, just a souvenir to take home to our friends about our exciting trip.”
“Back home we’re private eyes,” Sophie informs him.
Ida punches her arm. Sophie punches back. “Shh,” Ida says.
“Yeah,” Rocco says, not listening. He leads them to the front door. “Well, ladies, at least you tried. You’re good citizens. Now you can go back to the festival and have a fun day.”
Outside Sophie says to Ida, “What did you punch me for?”
“Because we failed completely. I didn’t want to give the Gladdy Gold and Associates Detective Agency a bad name.”
“So, what do we do now?” Bella asks.
Ida says, “Do what Rocco says. Let’s have a good time.” She grins at them. “And then figure out how to catch that crook.”
The San Gennaro festival is in full blast. Crowds are everywhere along the cobblestone streets, having a good time. A forties-era band is playing on the bandstand and people are dancing the foxtrot. The girls, walking in the gutter, can hardly move. They are eating slices of pizza. With her free hand Bella is happily waving a small Italian flag. Ida scans the list Rocco gave them.
“It took us twenty minutes for this,” Sophie says, indicating their treat. “Everything is one big line.”
“And longer than that for the hot dogs. They were great.” Bella smiles happily.
“They weren’t hot dogs, they were Italian sausages,” Sophie informs her. �
�And they weren’t kosher.”
“Who cares,” says Bella. “They were delicious.” She points. “What’s this line for? It’s really long. It’s all around the corner.”
“Who knows? Just get on. It must be for something good,” Sophie says.
They join the end of the line. As they walk, each store they pass seems to have a loudspeaker blaring music. One is playing Sinatra, another is Julius La Rosa, another plays Perry Como. The girls wiggle their way along the line.
Ida indicates the list of churches. “Well, Saint this and Saint that... St. Joseph’s Church on Waverly Place was robbed. And St. George’s Ukrainian, too. According to what I pulled from the yellow pages, that leaves four churches that weren’t hit yet. The closest ones to us are St. Veronica’s and St. Luke’s of the Field. I say we try one of them.” She is suddenly aware she’s in a moving line. “What are we getting this time?”
“Who knows?” says Bella. “It’s so far away, it’ll be a surprise.”
Ida glances up and down the line. “Mostly women. Wearing black.”
“Maybe it’s the five-dollar Gucci bags. To go with the black outfits,” Bella explains.
“Never mind,” says Sophie, “Pay attention. Let’s make a choice. Which church should we stake out? Gimme the list.” She takes it from Ida and reads. “Hey, get this. According to our guidebook, St. Luke’s is right next to Sophia’s Restaurant. That’s gotta be a sign.”
“Okay, St. Luke’s it is,” says Ida. “When?” They pass a small group playing a game on a little strip of dirt down an alleyway. The sign reads: “PLAY BOCCE!”
“Can we stop?” Bella asks.
“No, we’ll lose our place.”
Bella is disappointed. “I like bowling.”
A few minutes later, they pass a man with a huge scale. “I can guess your weight,” shouts the hawker. “Only three dollars. Your money back if I’m wrong.”
“This I gotta do,” says Sophie.
“Why?” asks Bella, annoyed. “You didn’t let me stop to play ball.”
“Just hold my place.” Sophie rushes over to the obese guy in a green, red, and white striped suit who is running the scale concession.
