by Dee Ernst
“And how are you liking it so far? Aside from the house being, you know, icky?”
He took another sip of tea. “The water is really cold here. The sand looks dirty. I know it’s not, I mean, not any dirtier than any other sand, but it looks dirty. And it’s very course. Gritty. I stepped on a shell and I think my heel is infected. I’m also allergic to the sunscreen I bought.”
We had already ordered dinner. I was trapped. Back in Westfield, behind the counter of Starbucks, Marty was smiling, sweet and engaging. Here and now, he was the most depressing man I had ever met. The good news was that the service was usually good here, and I could be back out on the street in about an hour.
I looked around the room. No sign of Tina and our salad. “Have you met anyone down here? People are usually friendly. Any nice neighbors?”
He sipped more iced tea, making another face. “The people next door had the police there Monday night. Across the street is a three hundred pound woman who sunbathes in her front yard every morning. In a two-piece. And the couple on the corner had a fistfight on the sidewalk yesterday around dinnertime.”
“Oh.” Where the hell were our salads?
“Anthony tells me you’re getting divorced,” Marty said, breaking a small silence.
“Yes. I am. My husband left me for another woman.”
“My second wife did that,” Marty said.
“Oh? Left you?” Can’t imagine why.
“Yes. For another woman.”
Ouch. “That must have been very hard.”
“It destroyed me, I gotta say. We’d been married six years.”
“Well, it must have been difficult for her to suddenly realize, after all that time, that she was really a lesbian.”
Marty lifted his shoulders. “She said she wasn’t before we were married. She told me I drove her to it.”
How long did it take to make a few salads? Were they growing them a leaf at a time back there?
“So, you’ve been divorced?”
He nodded. “Four times.”
Mercifully, Tina appeared with salads and my garlic bread, as well as the oil and vinegar, extra butter for the bread, and a shaker of parmesan cheese. She set everything down, left, and I sat for a few extra moments while Marty re-arranged the plates and condiments. We finally began to eat, and Marty shook his head sadly.
“Iceberg,” he muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“Iceberg lettuce. I hate iceberg lettuce.”
“There’s also green leaf in there, and red stuff, what is that, radicchio? It looks fine.”
He looked skeptical and tasted. He lifted his shoulders. “Oh well.”
“Well, here, have some garlic bread.”
He took a bite, and smiled for the first time. “Good.”
Thank God. “We could get another order, if you like.”
“No. I’ll just have this piece.”
I ate some salad, which was quite good, by the way. “So, you were talking about being divorced. Did you really say four times?”
“Yes. Can you believe four different women divorced me?”
What I couldn’t believe was that four different women married him in the first place, so I just shook my head and kept my mouth full.
He took another piece of garlic bread. “My first wife took off in the middle of the night and left a note. She said she had to go and find herself. She went to Alaska. Then Diane left me for Joan. Maryanne went back to her first husband. While they were still married, she had a restraining order against him, but she told me he’d gotten help and was a lot better. Sarah, well, she was drinking so bad in the end, it was just as well.”
“Oh my.” This called for an immediate change of subject. “How did you get attached to Starbucks?”
“Well, I had a degree in chemistry, but after I’d been at my first job for a couple of years, there was a small, well, accident. No one was hurt, but the owners of the company didn’t handle things well, and I was basically blackballed from the industry. I tried teaching, but too many parents complained about test scores, you know how that goes. Then I went into sales, pharmaceutical sales, because that’s the future, right? But the company went belly-up. Very unexpected. And for a while I was with an internet company, very promising. I was actually partner. Lost everything. So I was looking for a sure thing, and I think Starbucks is the answer.”
I glanced around. Would a car come careening through the front window? Would a bolt of lightening crack our table down the center? Was that actually a black cloud hovering over Marty’s head?
I took a deep breath. “I hope you’re right, Marty. Starbucks is a great company. I’d hate to see anything happen to it. My daughters are there all the time. And I hear Anthony and Victor are putting in a lot of time down there. Are you sure you don’t want your own order of garlic bread?”
“No, thanks. Just one more piece. Yes, Anthony is lovely, very charming. Victor, well, not so much. He’s into all that metaphysical stuff, you know, karma and auras and things. Always talking about positive energy. He actually said I had a negative vibe. What kind of crap is that?”
Tina appeared, dishes in hand. She set down mine, then Marty’s, and smiled at us both. “Can I do anything else?”
I picked up my plate and handed it back to her. “I’ll take mine to go.”
Jessica found me on the back porch, eating Chicken Marsala and drinking a tall vodka tonic. She sat down across from me, watching for a while, before she spoke.
“Another bum date?”
“I cannot,” I told her in all honesty, “even begin to describe it. Let’s just say we can never go into Starbucks again.”
She shrugged. “Maybe you can’t, but we can. He doesn’t know who we are. He hates all the kids. He’s just nice to the old rich folks.”
“I’m not having much luck with this dating thing.”
“I noticed that. We have to figure out what you’re doing wrong.”
“Me? Why would it be me doing the wrong?”
She shrugged. “Well, Mom, anybody is allowed one crappy date, it’s just a mistake, you know? And even the second time can just be a matter of poor judgment. But after the third time, you’ve got to wonder if maybe it’s you instead of, you know, them.”
“It’s them. Trust me. I get along fine with Doug.”
“Well, if I were you, I’d start getting along with somebody else. I don’t want Mr. Keegan for a step-dad.” She hauled herself up out of the chair and skulked off into the house. I sat for a while longer, drinking. Maybe she was right. Was there something wrong with me?
To: Anthony
From: Mona
Date: July 26
Subject: Marty
Anthony, really, is there something wrong with me?? I found Marty to be the most depressing and depressed person ever. Did you know he drove several companies into bankruptcy, and has been married four times?
To: Mona
From: Anthony
Date: July 27
Subject: Marty
Oh, honey, there’s nothing wrong with you. I thought you knew about Marty. Everyone knows he’s been through four wives. Where have you been? I didn’t know about the bankruptcy curse, or the depression thing. He’s always so cheerful behind the counter. But he’d have to be. But this is still practice, right? Don’t take it so seriously.
To: Mona
From: Aunt Lily
Date: July 27
Subject: Brian
Hello, dear. I just though I’d let you know that the worthless piece of shit you’re divorcing called me this morning and said he was coming by tomorrow before lunch to collect all his belongings that you had set aside for him in the garage. Now, I don’t mind him being here as long as he stays outside, but what if he wants to come into the house? I’m thinking about calling a friend of mine from Brooklyn to act as sort of a bodyguard. I can’t imagine what I’d do if that miserable asshole tried to force his way in. I don’t believe Anthony works on Thursdays, not that
he’d be very effective in the protection department. He’s a lovely boy, but don’t you think he’s a touch effeminate? Lana chased a kitten, Olivia I believe, up the living room drapes yesterday and the poor little thing had to jump for her life. Lana is not adjusting as well as I’d hoped to her new little family.
My love to the girls, Aunt Lily
Chapter Nine
The day after reading Lily’s e-mail, I left the house at four thirty in the morning so I could be sure to arrive in Westfield before Brian. Traffic on the Parkway can be a crapshoot, but I got lucky and slid into the driveway just at seven. The sun was coming up, birds were chirping, all looked peaceful and perfect. I slid down behind the steering wheel and promptly fell asleep. I was in the middle of a rather nice dream, something to do with eating cracked crab with that cute guy from Dirty Jobs, when a very deep voice woke me up.
“Hey, lady.”
I opened my eyes. It was much brighter. I glanced at my watch. I’d been asleep for over an hour. I turned my head toward the voice.
It was Luca Brasi from The Godfather.
“Hey, lady, you supposed to be here?”
I struggled to sit upright and find my voice. “I live here,” I said.
He looked at me with suspicion. He was a young Luca, but he had the same cold look in his eye. “I thought Lily Martel lived here.”
Lily? He knew my Aunt Lily? “She’s my aunt,” I explained. “It’s my house. She lives with me.”
He stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth as he pondered this information. I was beginning to think that what he had in abundance in the brawn department, he perhaps lacked in other areas. “So, then, how come you’re sleeping out in your car instead of in your house?”
“I’ve been living down the shore all summer, and thought I’d come up today, but I got here early. I didn’t want to wake her. Do you know my Aunt Lily?”
“She’s a friend of a friend. I was sent down here in case she had trouble. Don DeMatriano told me to keep her safe.”
It took me a second to realize that Don was not Mr. DeMatriano’s first name. “Can I get out of the car?” I asked.
He thought about it, then backed away. He opened the car door for me, closed it behind me, and followed me around to the kitchen door. The fact that I had a key made no impression on him.
Lily was sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, a steaming cup of coffee and the morning paper on the counter. She looked up as we entered, and registered no surprise at my appearance, nor the appearance of a total stranger dressed in a gray pin-striped suit and wearing a black fedora.
“Coffee, Mona? You must have left awfully early. And are you Mr. Guerrano?”
Luca smiled. “Yes, ma’am. You Mrs. Martel?”
“Yes. But call me Lily. Everyone does.”
“Sure. And you can call me Mickey. Please.”
She slid off the stool and pulled out some cups.
“Aunt Lily,” I said is a surprisingly calm voice, “I really need to speak with you. Right now.”
“Of course, dear, as soon as I pour this nice young man some coffee. Banana bread? I baked it myself just yesterday.”
Mickey smiled. There was a gap between his two front teeth, so large that I detected a glint of silver on his molars. “Thank you, ma’am. That’s very kind of you.”
“Now, Aunt Lily.”
She scowled, set the food in front of Mickey, and swept out of the kitchen.
I followed her into the living room and, with a quick look over my shoulder to make sure Mickey had not followed us out, hissed, “Did you hire that gorilla as a bodyguard?”
She shook her head sadly. “Now, Mona, just because he’s a rather large man, that’s no reason to call him names. I’m sure he’s very sweet.”
“He’s hired muscle from Don DeMatriano.”
She frowned. “No, Mona, you’re mistaken. It’s Joe DeMatriano.”
“Joe may be his name, but Don is his title. How did you meet a Mafia kingpin?”
“I’m sure Joe is not a kingpin. He sat next to me, a few years ago, during a lecture at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. It was about the migration patterns of the Monarch butterfly in North America. Fascinating stuff. We started talking, then went out for coffee. We would see each other once in a while after that, usually for coffee.”
I clutched my chest. “You dated a Don?”
She chuckled and waved her hand. “Don’t be silly, I’m old enough to be his mother. Besides, he’s very happily married. Five children. All boys. The oldest – “
“Aunt Lily. Stop. I don’t care about his family. Well, actually, I do, because I think a member of the enforcement branch is having banana bread in my kitchen. You called this guy? Joe?”
“Well, yes. Joe told me that if I was ever afraid, or worried about my safety in any way, I should call him and he would make sure I was taken care of. I called him last night about Brian, and he told me to expect Mickey. Just as a precaution.”
The thought of Mickey escorting Brian down the driveway kept my mind in a happy place for several seconds, then common sense kicked in. “Aunt Lily, now that I’m here, why don’t we let Mickey go back to whatever cave he came from.”
“Now, Mona, that seems to me a very rude thing to do. He just got here. Let him stay for a while, to feel useful.”
“Maybe.” I turned around and went back into the kitchen. Mickey was sitting at the breakfast bar and scratching the ear of a black kitten who had jumped on the stool beside him. I watched as his massive fingers curled around the tiny ear, and he made little kissing noises. He caught me watching him and blushed.
“I love kitties,” he said.
“That’s Olivia,” Lily said, bustling back into the room. “Lana hates her most.”
The back door opened, and Mickey rose to his feet in a movement so abrupt that Lily and I both jumped, and Olivia bolted from the stool. Mickey’s hand actually went into the opening of his jacket as Lily yelled.
“It’s okay, Mickey. That’s not him.”
It was Ben Cutler, frozen in the doorway, his eyes wide and fixed on Mickey’s face.
“Ben, what a surprise.” Lily smiled at Mickey. “That’s Ben. He’s a plumber, and quite welcome. Come on in, Ben. I didn’t expect you back until next week.”
Ben hadn’t moved. He smiled at Mickey. “Are you a friend of Lily’s?”
Mickey had sat back down and picked up his coffee cup. “In a manner of speaking.”
“Good. Hi, Mona. I didn’t expect you either.”
“Come on in, Ben. If it weren’t seven-thirty in the morning, I’d offer you a drink. Coffee?”
He finally moved his eyes from Mickey to me. “That would be great. So, Lily, yes, I didn’t think I’d be around today either, but I knew that Ray had finished up the sheetrock yesterday, and I wanted to check it out. Did Lily tell you, Mona, that we’re working on your bathroom?”
“Yes. I don’t suppose I can take a peek?”
Lily made a cluck-cluck sound. “No, dear, it’s a surprise. Banana bread, Ben?”
“No, thanks, Lily.”
I sipped my coffee and looked at the happy domestic scene before me. My beloved aunt, in a modest housecoat of pale pink roses, was pouring herself another cup of coffee. Mickey, the hired help, calmly munching on banana bread, was thoroughly prepared to kill the next person to walk through the door. Ben, no longer looking nervous but alert and seriously hot.
He leaned against the fireplace mantle, one hand on his hip, the other holding the dagger carelessly. His dark eyes glinted in the firelight as he smiled. ‘Quite an interesting situation,’ he said, his voice soft and deadly. She knew she should be frightened, but all she could think about was long, strong line of his throat above the open linen collar, and the way the leather of his boots hugged his muscled calves.
“Aunt Lily,” I said, “now that Ben is here, perhaps we can relieve Mickey of his, ah, assignment.”
Lily frowned. “But he’s come such
a long way.”
Mickey glanced around. “Hey, it’s no difference to me. Stay here, drive back to Brooklyn, I still get paid. It’s up to you, ma’am. If you think you still need me, I’ll be happy to stay.”
Ben looked clueless, but game. “Lily, I don’t know what you could possibly need me to stay for, but I will. All day. And tonight. I’ve got nothing to do tonight either.”
Lily pursed her lips. “Mickey, I suppose I’ll be fine with Ben here. Would you mind going back home?”
He lumbered to his feet, wiped crumbs from the front of his suit, and shook his head. “I don’t mind at all. I’ll be on my way. If you ever feel the need of my assistance again, just let Mr. DeMatriano know. It was a real pleasure meeting you.” He bowed, surprisingly graceful, and walked out. The room seemed suddenly very empty.
Ben turned to me and blurted. “What the hell just happened?”
“That was Mickey,” I explained, laughing shakily. “Brian told Lily he was coming by today to get his things out of the garage, and Lily got a little panicked, so she called her good buddy, the Mafia don, who sent one of his assassins to protect her.”
Ben turned to Lily in amazement. “You know a Mafia don?”
Lily shrugged. “I think Mona is exaggerating a little bit. Joe is just a local businessman who knows a few people, that’s all.”
Ben frowned. “Joe?”
Lily nodded. “Joe DeMatriano.”
Ben’s jaw dropped. “Joe DeMatriano? As in Big Joey ‘Two Shoes’ DeMatriano’s son? He’s head of one of the biggest organizations in New York, one of the Five Families.”
“Oh dear,” Lily murmured. “He told me he was a shoe wholesaler.”
Ben put down his coffee cup and leaned forward against the breakfast bar. “Christ, Lily, he’s one of the biggest criminals in the state. And yeah, he is a shoe salesman, that’s how his father got his nickname. It’s one of their fronts, the shoe business. That was their tag line, back in the seventies. Big Joey would appear in his own commercials, saying if you came to his shoe stores, you could buy two shoes for the price of one. Then he was indicted for money-laundering, trying to bribe a government official, and several counts of murder. Don’t you ever read the newspapers?”
