Heart's Desire

by Laura Pedersen

  Bernard of course can’t get to the stereo fast enough to put on “Hello Young Lovers” from The King and I, but everyone else is too preoccupied to notice that anything has changed between us. Olivia starts telling Craig’s parents how wonderfully creative the new pond is. It shouldn’t take her more than a few minutes to gracefully segue into her position on US government sanctions against Cuba.

  Gil goes to the front hall and digs out the leaf for the dining room table. Ottavio runs around pouring coffee and tea for everyone. And Bernard heads back into the kitchen, where he’s firing up eggs and waffles and only the bread machine knows what else. He continues his mischievousness by putting a big bowl of fresh strawberries in front of my place at the table.

  “Thank you, Puppetmaster,” I say, and pick up a fork. Suddenly I’m starving. I know that smoking pot gives you the munchies but I’d never heard the same thing said about sex.

  The Larkins haven’t been inside the house before and it’s easy to see by the way they glance around and nudge each other that they’re surprised by some of the more elaborate furnishings. “What a beautiful highboy!” exclaims Mrs. Larkin.

  “Virgin spruce.” Bernard gives me a covert wink.

  Olivia shoots him a look.

  “I thought it was fruitwood,” I say with mock surprise.

  Bernard ignores us both. He goes over to Rose, who is now bouncing in Ottavio’s lap and says, “Who wants Lillian Russell?” The faces of both Gigi and Rose break into big smiles. Then from behind his back Bernard produces a plate of two half cantaloupes filled with vanilla ice cream placed side by side—a culinary tribute to the voluptuous stage star of the early twentieth century.

  Mr. and Mrs. Larkin glance at each other as if they’re not sure whether to call a photographer to capture the happiest little girls in Cosgrove County, or else phone Social Services for using breakfast as a lesson in female anatomy.

  Meantime Craig takes the seat next to me, and having forgotten to get a clean glass from the kitchen, he casually picks up mine, finishes my orange juice, and then refills it from the pitcher in the middle of the table. Everyone else is too busy talking to notice, but I do, and he notices that I notice. We give each other a secret smile acknowledging that we have recently been that close, and are thereby authorized to share germs.

  The next person to knock on the door is Officer Rich. He lumbers into the room. “Hiya, folks, mind if I join you?”

  Now, what is he doing here? I happen to know that I can’t get arrested for having sex, at least so long as I didn’t charge for it. But what is going on? A post-virginity party? It reminds me of the first day I went to school with my period—feeling as if everybody in the entire world could tell that something was different.

  However, Bernard seems to be the only one attuned to my anxiety. He holds up a big pitcher of tomato juice with a celery stalk in it and asks, “Does anyone care for a virgin Bloody Mary?” Only he’s looking right at me as he says the words.

  Gil returns from the hall closet with another leaf for the table. “The more the merrier!”

  Ottavio lifts Rose onto Olivia’s lap and goes into the kitchen for another mug of coffee, though he’s obviously delighted at the prospect of an impromptu brunch party. Ottavio is happiest when there’s a mob of people sitting around a table with lots of good food. I sneak into the living room and begin playing “They Say It’s Wonderful” from the Ethel Merman disco album. Bernard is the only one who notices the change in background music. He’s so startled by Ethel’s sudden burst of vibrato that he accidentally drops the teakettle into the sink, and this gives me some measure of revenge for his smugness and double entendres.

  “Did you expect me to take all your crap lying down,” I whisper as Bernard hurtles past me toward the stereo.

  Sliding his sizable bulk into the last empty seat, Officer Rich takes a swig of coffee and beams at all of us. “Well, Hallie,” he announces, “it would appear that you’ve solved my pothole problem.”

  Chapter Seventy-six

  “WHAT DID I DO?” I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA WHAT OFFICER Rich is talking about.

  “Valueland is being charged with tax evasion and has been forced to shut its doors, and I mean permanently,” he answers. “It turns out that Kunckle’s crew has been bringing in goods from Canada that were originally manufactured in the Far East and sticking MADE IN AMERICA labels onto them. The shipping documents were then altered for US Customs.

  “Another step toward ending child labor!” cries a delighted Olivia. “But how does this involve potholes?”

  “Hallie noticed the delivery trucks when she and Bernard were out late one night—or rather, early one morning,” says Officer Rich. “So I staked out Valueland for a few weeks and it turned out to be a nightly occurrence.”

  I can see my mother’s eyebrows shooting skyward and Bernard looking worried, so I quickly jump in. “When we left early for that antiques show in Pittsburgh, I mean, Philadelphia. It must have been about 3 A.M.”

  “Oh, of course,” Bernard energetically agrees. “The antiques show.”

  “Anyway,” continues Officer Rich, “the day before I’d been telling Hallie how the back roads between here and Valueland were constantly getting ripped up. When she next ran into me at our weekly poker game and said how she’d seen some large trucks, the kind intended for highway travel, she figured that they must be causing the potholes.”

  Now it’s Mr. and Mrs. Larkin’s turn to look intrigued when they hear my name mentioned in conjunction with a poker game.

  “So the trucks were pulling into Valueland to unload,” explains Officer Rich. “And five in the morning is an unusual time to be unpacking a truck around here.”

  “Yeah, but I only told you I thought I knew where the potholes were coming from,” I remind him. “You went off and figured out the tax evasion stuff.”

  “Actually, the state revenue officer took care of that when I told him about the shipments in the middle of the night. Valueland isn’t the first store to attempt this sort of label switcheroo,” says Officer Rich. “Though I’m surprised that Edwin Kunckle would be involved in such a sleazy operation.”

  Mr. Larkin harrumphs in a way that indicates he’s not at all surprised that Edwin Kunckle would be involved in something like this. “There’s a good example of a man who’d rather reign in hell than serve in heaven.”

  “Milton!” exclaims Olivia, obviously thrilled to have another person at the table with a stanza to suit every occasion.

  “Will he go to jail?” I’m hoping yes; after almost putting Herb out of business he deserves it. What a creep. I’d love to see how those stupid blue silk ascots look with an orange jumpsuit.

  Officer Rich shakes his head. “Sorry, but he’s already out on bail. And of course he’s employed the most expensive lawyers in Cleveland to work on the case round the clock. But the big news,” he turns to me, “is that you’re going to get a five-thousand-dollar reward!”

  “No kidding?” I must be dreaming. First I have the best night of my life with Craig and now, after losing the design contest and throwing the poker game, I’m still getting some money. That will pay for the tuition gap second semester and so I won’t have to quit for a year and work full-time! It’s as if the odds have suddenly and mysteriously shifted in my favor. And a good thing too, since I’d been starting to think that perhaps my luck was finally running out.

  “That’s wonderful,” says my mother, who attended the Every-Bit-Helps School of Finance.

  And as much as I can really use the money, it crosses my mind that I’m not really entitled to it, at least all of it. “But you’re the one who figured out the tax evasion!” I say to Officer Rich.

  “The money is for tips that help crack a case, and you were the one who provided the tip, Hallie.” Officer Rich is firm. “Besides, I can’t take any of the money. I’m in law enforcement. It’s specifically for good citizenship.”

  “Cool!” I say. And who would have imagined that the
words good citizenship would ever be used in conjunction with my name!

  Craig raises “our” orange juice glass in toast fashion and gives me a proud smile.

  His parents appear impressed too, as if you shouldn’t judge a person just because they wear torn jeans with a Mr. Bubble T-shirt and play poker.

  “Maybe you can use the money to go on a trip,” suggests Bernard. “To historic Williamsburg, Virginia. Or better yet, the Virgin Islands.”

  “Just be sure and go to the British Virgin Islands.” Olivia is back on message. “They have a social welfare system and take care of the people who work hard their entire lives. Unlike America, which more often than not heartlessly casts aside her human resources.”

  There’s another knock at the door and Gil goes to answer it. Who’s left, I wonder? Maybe it’s Dr. Just Call Me Dick from the high school coming to tell me that there’s been a mistake and I never graduated after all.

  Chapter Seventy-seven

  GIL RETURNS TO THE TABLE WITH CAPPY, SMARTLY TURNED OUT in neatly pressed white pants, plaid shirt, maroon linen sport jacket, and wearing his good-luck boating cap at a jaunty angle. He politely removes his cap upon entering the dining room and holds it in front of his chest as if “The Star-Spangled Banner” is about to begin playing.

  Until now I’ve managed to keep my old gambling life and my new life with the Stocktons separate. Bernard has heard about Cappy, but he’s never met him. However, as soon as I introduce my old track crony, Bernard graciously offers him coffee and breakfast.

  It’s obvious that Officer Rich and also Mr. Larkin do know Cappy, and hold a negative opinion regarding his line of business. And though they don’t say anything, I can tell that they’d rather he didn’t stay. Cappy doesn’t make any trouble around town and so the Morality Police tend to leave him alone, because the truth is that a lot of local doctors and lawyers and businessmen use his services all the time. However, it’s understood that Cappy’s supposed to stay on his own turf, meaning the track and his office down at Bob’s, or else Officer Rich might be interested in offering him some free lodging.

  Cappy is no doubt aware that his presence may not be desired all around and politely refuses the offer of breakfast and also Bernard’s chair at the table. “Thanks, but I just need to talk to Hallie for a minute and I’ll be on my way.” He looks around the table and nods to everyone and shoots a horse trader’s glance into the kitchen. “Where’s Ray Ray?” he asks me.

  “Gone Gone,” I tell him. “We sort of broke up.”

  “Who’s Ray Ray?” asks Officer Rich, apparently interested in anyone who might also be of interest to the local bookie.

  “Raymond Vincent Bolliteri Junior.” Cappy’s tone is heavy with disapproval, suggesting that he and Officer Rich aren’t in such different businesses after all.

  The name Raymond Bolliteri certainly gets the attention of Craig’s dad, who sits straight up in his chair. “Raymond Bolliteri Senior is the head of the most powerful crime family in the Midwest,” he explains for the benefit of assembled company, including me.

  Holy shit, I almost slept with a mafioso-in-training. He certainly didn’t talk or act like any of those hoods on TV. How was I supposed to know? Oh my gosh, if Ray had stayed over last night I might have had to start wearing makeup and big hair and maybe even high heels!

  “They have huge money-laundering operations all over the state,” continues Mr. Larkin. “In fact, well, I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but Valueland was one of their laundries. Ed Kunckle is only the front man.”

  “Oh good heavens!” says my mother. Women in their childbearing years are often the first to connect a financial windfall for offspring with potential harm to offspring.

  “Don’t worry,” says Mr. Larkin. “That’s why they use people like Ed Kunckle. The store disappears, he gets paid off, cuts a deal to stay out of prison, spreads some money around for a new library and a day-care center, and the local paper prints that Kunckle was embezzled by his accountants.”

  “You almost slept with a mobster!” blurts out Craig, echoing my own thoughts. But out loud!

  My mother’s jaw drops an inch at the words slept with and then another inch for mobster. And for a split second it’s hard to tell whether engaging in premarital sex trumps being on a Mafia hit list in her parental playbook.

  “Hallie would have of course reformed him,” interjects Bernard. “The way Sarah Brown converted Sky Masterson in Guys and Dolls.”

  Craig’s announcement about my dating history appears to pique Mrs. Larkin’s curiosity as well, if one can judge a person’s interest in something by the way their palms fly up to their cheeks and stare at the party in question.

  Meantime Cappy lets out a low but satisfied chuckle, the way he does when the favorite starts out too strong and the experts know it’s going to drop back to last place in the final furlong but the gullible bettors are cheering their hearts out.

  Fortunately I’m saved by the bells of Our Lady of Perpetual Sanctity, which start clanging out an earsplitting “What a Friend You Have in Jesus” to call the faithful to worship. Rocky comes bounding through the dining room dressed in his suit and tie.

  Craig’s parents have never seen Rocky before. In fact, by the looks on their faces it’s safe to say they’ve never seen any chimpanzee wearing a three-piece suit.

  “He certainly looks excited about going to church today,” exclaims Gil.

  “I should think so,” says Olivia. “Rocky’s converted Lulu to Catholicism. Now that they’ve settled on being friends they attend Mass together every Sunday.”

  The news of a chimp taking a dog to church doesn’t surprise Gil, because he’s lived with the Stocktons long enough to know that this could be considered one of the more boring things to happen around here. The Stocktons live in capital letters, is the way Gil likes to explain it. However, it’s probably a good thing that Craig’s parents don’t know that the “Lulu” being spoken of is a Great Dane.

  “They’re off to pray to the Virgin Mary,” adds Bernard, no doubt for my benefit.

  But I no longer mind his teasing. This particular ending has been lost in a crowd of wonderful new beginnings.

  Rocky heads out the front door, and Cappy, after politely saying his good-byes, follows him. There’s no doubt in my mind that Cappy is already working on ways to make a couple bucks off the chimp, like betting some of his pals down at the pool hall a C-note that there’s a monkey attending Mass over at Our Lady right this very minute.

  Just as Cappy exits, Herb from the drugstore enters with a pleased look on his face and a big cardboard box under his arm. He stands at the head of the table and announces, “Hallie, I can’t thank you enough for helping to close down Valueland. I was planning to call it quits after Labor Day and close the store.”

  “Then next time deal me some cards that I can use,” I say.

  “I’m being serious, for once,” insists Herb. “They’ve only been shut for two days and I’m busier than a lesbian in a hardware store at closing time.”

  “What did you just say?” I can’t believe my ears. Herb is not exactly known for being the most gay-friendly of all my friends.

  But Herb only laughs. “Bernard taught me that one. I just love it. And my kids think I’m really cool when I surprise them with these bonbons.”

  My mother and the Larkins appear puzzled.

  However, Olivia politely clears up the confusion without embarrassing Herb. “Ah yes, perhaps someday Hallie can write a book containing all of Bernard’s bon mots.”

  Herb places the large box down on the floor. “There’s enough toothpaste and shampoo and stuff in here to last you through the holidays.”

  I glance over at the open carton to make sure there aren’t boxes of condoms or pregnancy tests on top.

  “And if you give me your address at school, I’ll ship you paper products and microwave food,” promises a joyous Herb.

  “Now that’s an offer I’m not going to refuse,” I
say. Between the reward money and the Herb pipeline I may not even have to take out much more in loans this year. At least assuming that I can win a few games of hearts every now and then.

  Chapter Seventy-eight

  WHEN WE’VE ALL FINISHED EATING, BERNARD GOES TO THE stereo and puts on “I Enjoy Being a Girl” from Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Flower Drum Song so he can show off the choreography he’s been teaching to the girls. The pediatrician said that lots of movement is good for the development of their muscles and bones, and Bernard of course interpreted this to mean dance lessons.

  Rose is very enthusiastic about dancing and the minute any sort of music is turned on she begins flouncing around. Little Gigi can only wave her arms, but she does a fine job of it and practically keeps time with the music.

  “Isadora Duncan had a divine revelation that she could free people from their shackles through dance,” Olivia explains to the assembled crowd. “Bertie believes the same to be true for curing rickets.”

  Bernard turns to my mother and places a reassuring hand on her elbow. “Although Isadora was slightly hostile to the idea of marriage, she always believed in motherhood.”

  “They do have a way of winning your heart.” Mom smiles at the girls while holding a hand on her midriff, where she’s starting to show with the expected twins.

  “I’m going to install a swimming pool next summer and you must bring all the children over,” Bernard says to my mother.

  A pool? This is news to Gil and me. We both give Bernard a quizzical look.

  “It seems a shame to let my experience with swimming go to waste,” continues Bernard.

  “I agree that all children should learn to swim at an early age,” says my mother in her Safety First tone of voice.

  Gil mouths “water ballet” at me and puts his hands above his head as if forming the flame of a candle atop a cake and we both crack up.