The Coach House

by Florence Osmund

  “Do you like it? I bought it especially for the occasion.”

  “Like it? You, my darling, look stunning!” He looked her up and down. “I’m going to have to keep an eye on you tonight,” he teased. “Every man in the place will be looking at you.”

  “Go on.”

  It turned out Richard wasn’t far off the mark. Marie sensed that she turned nearly every man’s head that night. It made her uncomfortable, but Richard loved it. She tried her best to make idle chitchat with the wives while Richard talked with the men, but knowing their husbands were ogling her from a few feet away made it awkward.

  Close to a hundred people were there, all dressed in their finest attire. Marie fit in with what she was wearing, but felt out of her element in all other respects. She did her best to blend in as Richard, who appeared to know just about every man in the room, introduced her.

  “He has the best combination of balls and brains I’ve ever seen!” Their language appalled her.

  “Where’s Toots?” Marie kept hearing the men say throughout the cocktail hour.

  “Hey, I expected to see Tootsie here.”

  Recalling that name from the papers in the box she had discovered in their basement, she asked Richard, “Who is Tootsie?” He shrugged it off and said he didn’t know him.

  Rocco was dressed in an off-white pinstriped suit, grey shirt, and black vest and tie. A large man, he could be spotted from any vantage point in the room. And so could the humongous diamond ring he wore on his pinky finger.

  His speech was confusing. He contradicted himself more than once and often got off track, sometimes in midsentence. He was nothing short of inarticulate, something Marie wouldn’t have expected from a man wanting to be governor.

  On the ride home, Marie voiced her opinion of him.

  “Oh, he’s a little rough around the edges, but that’s what I like about him. He’s a man for the people, sweetheart, unlike his opponents who spend all their time practicing their speeches in front of a mirror until they get it perfect. He can make a difference given the chance.”

  “If you say so.”

  “The night’s young. Do you want to go dancing?”

  “Sure.”

  “That way I can continue to show you off to the world. You really look incredible in that dress. Did I tell you that already?”

  “Yes, but I don’t mind hearing it again.”

  They drove to a dance hall called the Red Door. Once they were inside, Richard took her in his arms, and they joined twenty or so other couples on the dance floor. Their movements were smooth and easy: he the strong leader, and she the graceful follower. She felt as though they were one when they danced. It was a feeling that enthralled her.

  After they were there for about twenty minutes, three uniformed policemen entered through the back door. They stood there for several minutes observing the crowd. Richard didn’t take his eyes off of them once as he twirled Marie around to a Viennese Waltz. When the three men turned toward the exit, Richard abruptly let go of her right in the middle of their dance and said, “Hon, I’ll be right back. Men’s room.” With that, he walked briskly toward the back of the room.

  Marie walked off the dance floor in awe and sat in one of the chairs off to the side. She looked toward the back exit. One of the policemen had propped the door open with his body. She saw Richard talking to the other two. Their conversation ended with laughter and handshakes.

  Richard walked toward Marie, took her arm, and said, “C’mon, let’s go.” He then escorted her to the front door. “They’re going to raid this place,” he whispered. They walked fast to his car and drove away.

  “They told you they were going to raid the place? Why would they do that?”

  “I know one of them. He gave me the heads up.”

  “Why are they raiding it?”

  “Illegal gambling.”

  “In a dance hall?”

  “There’s a back room.”

  “I thought the police generally turned a blind eye toward gambling houses.”

  “Not all of them. It’s who you know.”

  She wondered how he knew so much about the subject, but given the tightness of his jaw, she knew better than to pursue it.

  The next morning, lying in bed, Marie smelled the strong aroma of coffee coming from downstairs. Before getting dressed, she looked out the front window to see what kind of day it was going to be. Richard was talking to a man across the street who looked familiar. She watched them talk and then realized it was one of the policemen who had been at The Red Door the previous night. He lives across the street?

  The two men spoke animatedly, laughing at times, and slapping each other on the back. After five minutes or so, they shook hands, and the policeman walked up the sidewalk leading to the house directly across the street from theirs and disappeared inside.

  She was sitting at the kitchen table when he returned. “So what did the policeman have to say so early this morning?”

  Richard rummaged around in one of the kitchen drawers. With his back facing her, he said, “Nothing much, just neighbor stuff.”

  She waited until he sat down with his cup of coffee. “You didn’t tell me last night that he lived right across the street from us.”

  “I didn’t?” His posture was tight.

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Well, he does.” Richard busied himself with buttering his toast.

  She studied his expression. “What’s his name?”

  He hesitated. “Brian.”

  “Brian what?”

  “Murphy.” He looked up at her. “Anything wrong?”

  “No, of course not.” She paused. “Why don’t we have him over for dinner some time? Does he have a family?”

  “Divorced. Works nights mostly. I was thinking of Eduardo’s for dinner tonight. Is that okay?”

  “We have all the makings for pot roast in the fridge. I thought we were eating in.”

  “Let’s do that tomorrow.” He got up and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Okay. I need to go in to Field’s this afternoon for a meeting with Mr. Bakersfield, but I should be home well before dinner.”

  “On a Sunday?”

  “Yes, on a Sunday.”

  * * *

  On their way out of Eduardo’s that night, Marie and Richard ran into Arturo’s unkempt cigar-smoking relative, Guido. “Med Man! Where’ve ya been? I haven’t seen you since St. Hu’s.”

  “Alive and well, old man,” he said brusquely and shepherded Marie out the front door.

  “Hey, come back here. What’s your hurry?”

  Richard kept walking as if he didn’t hear him.

  “What’s St. Hu’s?” Marie asked.

  “St. Hubert’s Old English Grill and Chop House. Just a restaurant on the West Side, I think. I can’t even remember seeing him there. C’mon, let’s go. It’s freezing out here.”

  “What does Guido do?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Just curious. He seems to know you pretty well. Seems odd you don’t know what he does, that’s all.”

  “Next time I run into him, I’ll ask him. Ha! It wouldn’t surprise me if he and his wife just leech off Arturo.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “Don’t know. Never met her.”

  “Yes, you did. You were talking to her at Rosa’s our first Christmas Eve together.”

  He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t remember her.” How can he not remember her? She was a foot taller than her husband, and based on the conflicting way they were dressed, they didn’t look like they belonged together.

  Richard was about to start the car when he said, “I forgot my hat in the restaurant. Wait here.” Marie didn’t remember him leaving the house with a hat. After ten minutes, she walked to the other side of the car where she could see the entrance of the restaurant. There was Richard, talking to Guido. She stood in the nighttime shadows of the parking lot and watched them talk, their ge
sticulations signifying a lively discussion. She slipped back into their car when Richard headed her way.

  “No hat?”

  “No, it was gone when I got there. They’re going to call me if it shows up.”

  “What did Guido have to say?”

  He shot her a glance. “Nothing important. Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  “Is that his real name?”

  “Guido? I don’t know. I suppose so.”

  “What’s his last name?”

  “I don’t know.” His voice was laced with irritation. “Why the sudden interest in Guido?”

  “Nothing really. I was just…”

  “Well, I suggest you stop worrying about nothing…dear.”

  They drove the rest of the way home in silence. Marie went to their bedroom to change into her nightgown. When she came out, Richard’s office door was closed, but light streamed out from underneath it. She tried not to let his work at home bother her, but it did.

  After watching Kraft Television Theater alone, a program she and Richard had discussed watching together, Marie climbed the stairs to their bedroom. The light was still on in Richard’s office.

  “So what time did you come to bed last night?” she asked him the next morning.

  “Late. Why?”

  She continued with making her breakfast without looking up. “Busy working?”

  “Right.”

  “Well, you missed a good movie. I think we’re going to like these Kraft shows.”

  “Yeah? What was it about?”

  “It was about this woman who didn’t want this other woman to marry her brother, so she locked her in their…”

  The phone rang. “I’ll get it,” he said halfway out of the kitchen.

  Marie finished breakfast alone.

  CHAPTER 9

  I Do It For Us

  Marie turned twenty-two in New York. It was June, and the weather was perfect, seventy-four degrees, sunny, and calm. She and Richard strolled up and down Fifth Avenue, holding hands, stopping in stores along the way. They were eating lunch when he told her he had made a spa appointment for her at their hotel.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “Shop for your present, of course!”

  He had ordered the works for her—massage, manicure, pedicure, steam bath, hair wash, and style. It was close to dinnertime when she returned to the hotel room. Soon there was a knock at the door. “Who is it?”

  “Room service, madam.”

  The waiter rolled in a cart with cheese, fruit, and champagne. She was about to have some cheese when she remembered she had taken off her earrings in the beauty salon and had forgotten them there. She left the room and headed toward the salon, walking through the corridor overlooking the interior of the hotel and peering over the railing at the splendor of the lobby from five floors up. She leaned over the railing to get a better look.

  Is that Richard? He was talking to another man at the far edge of the lobby. Then he shook hands with the man and walked in her direction. Not wanting him to know she saw him, she dashed back to the room. Or maybe I should let him know I saw him so I can hear another one of his cooked-up stories. Wanting to believe it was just someone he knew that he bumped into, she kept quiet.

  Richard entered their room just as she was hanging up the phone. “Who was that?”

  “I left my earrings at the salon. They’re going to bring them to the front desk so I can pick them up on our way out tonight.”

  They broke open the champagne and nibbled on cheese and fruit before going to the Ritz Carlton for dinner. When they returned to the hotel room, Richard presented her with a familiar blue box. She opened it, and finding it empty, looked up at him in surprise.

  “I spent hours at Tiffany’s. I must have looked at everything they had in the store and just couldn’t decide. We’ll go back there tomorrow before the show, and you can pick something out.” He gave her an apologetic look. “Is that okay, sweetheart?”

  “Sure.” He never had any trouble buying her things from there before.

  The next day, Richard ordered room service for breakfast, and they stayed in the room all morning. In the early afternoon, they walked to Tiffany’s to buy her present. It didn’t take her long to pick out a diamond XOXO bracelet set in platinum, one she had admired in the past. Given Richard’s excellent memory, she was surprised he hadn’t picked it out for her earlier when he shopped. That is, if he really did spend hours in Tiffany’s looking for my gift.

  That evening, they saw Finian’s Rainbow, an entertaining musical filled with Irish ballads, gospel, and political satire.

  Richard hummed the music while they walked back to their room.

  How are things in Glocca Morra?

  Is that little brook still leaping there?

  Does it still run down to Donny cove?

  Through Killybegs, Kilkerry and Kildare?

  “Did you enjoy your birthday, Mrs. Marchetti?” he asked her in bed later that night.

  “Mm-hm.”

  “And how are things in Glocca Morra this fine day?” he asked her in a pathetic Irish accent. He rolled toward her and ran his fingers quickly down the curves of her body. The feel of his nakedness against hers was electric. Her body swelled with his touch, silently begging for more.

  “You tell me, Mr. Marchetti.” Her whisper-soft moan she let escape signaled she was ready for him.

  * * *

  On October 5, 1947, President Truman made the first televised presidential address from the White House. “Being president is like riding a tiger. You have to keep on riding or be swallowed,” he said in his speech. He talked about the continuing post-war economic conditions and the hostile international environment.

  As Marie drove to work, she thought about Truman’s remarks. She, too, had to keep riding the tiger. She thought back to the previous night, the reason she was so tired.

  Richard was in Milwaukee. She had gotten up to use the bathroom and was distracted by a loud thud coming from across the street. She looked out the window at Brian Murphy, their cop neighbor, lifting a large black bag from the back end of a pickup truck. She watched him drag it down his driveway to the back of his house. When he reappeared in front, he walked to the long black limo that had just pulled up. He stooped down to speak with whoever was in the back seat, and then signaled the driver of the pickup truck to move on. The limo followed, and the cop retreated into his house.

  Not able to make any sense out of the cop’s actions, Marie retreated to her bedroom where she casually looked out the back window. A dark figure walked through the shadows of their backyard. She jumped out of view and waited a few seconds before peeking out again. Whoever it was, was gone.

  She suspected the two incidents were related, and she suspected Richard was either involved or at least knew what was going on. She didn’t mention either one to Richard when he returned. Instead, she decided to test him.

  “Someone came to our front door last night, but I was just getting out of the shower and couldn’t answer it in time. But I did see the man walking away from our house with a large black sack of some kind go to Brian’s house.”

  Richard didn’t say anything.

  “So when I saw Brian outside his house this morning, I walked over to him and asked him he had accepted a delivery for us. He said he didn’t, which seemed odd.” When Richard still didn’t say anything, she took it further. “But he did introduce me to his girlfriend, and he mentioned that you guys talked about the four of us spending a weekend up at his cottage next month.”

  There had, in fact, been no such conversation, and she didn’t know if Brian even had a girlfriend or a cottage for that matter.

  “Uh…yeah. Weird about the package. Maybe the deliveryman realized he had the wrong address.” He started to leave the room.

  “So what about Brian’s cottage?”

  “Um…we did talk about that come to think about it. I’m sorry I forgot to mention it to you. Is that
something you’d like to do?”

  Her stomach lurched. “Sure.” She turned away to hide her face, which suddenly felt flushed.

  He lied when he didn’t have to. Why would he do that? Force of habit? Why would you go along with something that made no seme? It was one thing to withhold things from her, but lying took it to another level in Marie’s mind.

  Marie debated with herself whether to confront Richard about the lie. She wondered why he hadn’t confronted her about it. Certainly he had talked to Brian in the days that followed and discovered she made the whole thing up, but that didn’t happen, and that made her even more nervous.

  Attempting to put the incident behind her, she looked forward to getting together with her co-workers after work for a baby shower. Right before noon, she realized she had left the shower gift on the kitchen counter and went home on her lunch hour to retrieve it. She parked her car in front of their house and let herself in the front door.

  Richard, Brian from across the street, and two men in dark suits and slicked-back hair were sitting in their living room. One of them reached to his side when she opened the front door and then kept his hand hidden beneath his jacket. There were three stacks of bills on the coffee table and several small packages wrapped in brown paper. The room reeked of cigar smoke and even thicker disquietude.

  “What’s going on here?” she asked.

  Before she could say or see any more, Richard rushed to her side. He took her firmly by the arm and whisked her into the kitchen.

  “Richard, let go of me. You’re hurting my arm.”

  He ignored her plea and gently pushed her up against the counter. The veins in his neck bulged out. “Can’t you see I’m doing business here, sweetheart?” he said in a low soft voice barely moving his lips.

  “What are you doing?”

  He gave her a slight shove. “Stay put.”

  As she sunk down in one of the kitchen chairs, she heard him apologize for his wife’s unexpected appearance and suggest they break for lunch and reconvene in an hour. The three men left the apartment laughing.