Ripped at the Seams

by Nancy Krulik

  “Over the phone,” Sami told him. “Not here. Can you imagine my dad in New York? I can just see him in his big snorkle parka and boots wandering around the Village—”

  “So what?” Rain interrupted. “It’s not like he’d be the weirdest-looking guy in this neighborhood.”

  “And he’s going to want to meet Franklin. I can only imagine what he’ll think of my dad—or of Celia and Al, for that matter.”

  “What’s wrong with them?” Rain asked. “It’s not like they’re the Beverly Hillbillies, you know. She’s your best friend—other than me, of course. And he’s your brother.”

  “They’re also the ones who helped you move here in the first place,” Vin chimed in.

  “I know,” Sami agreed. “But they’re just so different from the people I know here.”

  “They don’t sound all that different,” Vin said.

  Sami didn’t look so sure. “Franklin and my family. Oh, that’ll be just great. What’s he going to do when they start discussing hunting or ice fishing?”

  Vin shook his head as he stood up from the couch. He turned to Rain. “I’ve got some work to do. Call me later if you want to catch a movie.”

  “What’s with him?” Sami asked Rain as the door closed behind Vin.

  Rain shrugged and grabbed her jacket from the coat rack. “I’m going out for a run,” she said. “You might want to call and make reservations at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. It’s in a much more chic area of the Village.”

  “Is it expensive?” Sami asked.

  Rain shrugged. “Everything comes with a price, babe,” she said as she headed out the door.

  Seventeen

  After much coaxing from Lola, Rain, and Vin, Sami decided to take Thursday afternoon off to meet her family at the airport before heading to the benefit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Vin had cleared his afternoon calendar and volunteered to drive her out to JFK Airport in his van. He knew this was one errand Sami didn’t want to go on alone.

  As she and Vin drove to the airport, Sami became more and more nervous. She knew that the purpose of Mac’s visit was more than he’d led Celia to believe. Mac had taken ribbing from his friends before and it had never made him leave Elk Lake. Not even when his wife had left him. He was going to try to convince her to come back to Elk Lake—of that, Sami was certain. She was less certain, however, that she’d be able to withstand another barrage of attacks from him. Or worse yet, a Mac Granger guilt trip. Sami’s dad was the king of guilt. Either way, he would be hard to deal with face-to-face. That’s why she’d left for New York before he’d ever woken up. It hadn’t been mature, but she and Celia had both decided that it was the way it had to be.

  Sami had hoped to get to JFK Airport early, but she and Vin hit a patch of traffic because of some of the never-ending construction that plagued New York City’s roadways. So by the time the van pulled up in front of the terminal, Al, Celia, and her father were already waiting in the taxi line.

  “There they are,” Sami said nervously. But she made no move to get out of the van.

  “Where?” Vin asked.

  Sami sighed. “I’m sure you can pick them out.”

  “It’s not like they’re wearing a sign that says, ‘Look at us, we’re tourists from a small town.’”

  Sami laughed for the first time since she’d gotten in the van. “Just look for the group that includes a very pregnant woman, her husband, and a very angry man in a huge down jacket.”

  Vin laughed and looked around. Sure enough, there they were, exactly as Sami had just described them. “Oh, there they are. They’ve only got one or two more people and then they’re next in line. Do you want to get out and go over to them, or should we just wait for them to get into a taxi and tail them all the way back to Manhattan?”

  “Is this a multiple-choice question?” Sami asked hopefully.

  Vin gave her a playful shove. “Get out of the van.”

  “Come with me?”

  Vin shook his head. I can’t just leave the van here: They’ll tow me. But I promise to dial 911 the minute your father turns into a werewolf. I think there’s a full moon tonight.”

  “Not funny.” Sami grimaced as she unhooked her belt and got out of the van. She walked slowly toward the taxi line, feeling more like someone heading to the gallows than a girl who was about to see her family for the first time in four months. Of course, in Sami’s mind, it was all sort of the same thing.

  Celia was the first one to recognize Sami. “There she is!” she shouted, leaving Al and Mac Granger behind as she waddled over toward Sami.

  “Wait for us,” Al called out, grabbing their bags and following his wife. Sami’s dad didn’t hurry, however. Instead, he walked cautiously, eyeing his daughter suspiciously, trying to determine whether she was in a fighting mood.

  Sami wasn’t looking at her dad, though. She was too busy hugging Al and patting Celia’s belly.

  Sami was amazed at the transformation that had taken place in her brother. Al looked at Celia with a sense of devotion and caring that Sami had never seen on his face before. He stood tall and proud as Sami patted Celia’s stomach and cooed over her pregnant glow.

  Celia had changed as well. Her usually chiseled features were camouflaged by a growing roundness in her face. And her stomach looked huge—as though she’d swallowed a watermelon that had begun to spread around her hips. Not even the plaid wool maternity cape she was wearing could hide the fact that Celia had taken advantage of her pregnancy to eat whatever she chose. But like Al, she also seemed more mature and settled. The wild schoolgirl who would try anything at least once had been replaced by a mother-to-be. Sure, Celia still had the same lilting laugh, but her smile had something wise and knowing behind it. It was as though Celia had learned a secret that Sami didn’t yet know.

  But Celia wasn’t the one who’d changed the most. That award went to Mac Granger. Sami was shocked at just how much older her dad seemed. In Elk Lake he’d seemed so tall and strong. But here, in New York, surrounded by people of all sizes, shapes, races, and religions, he seemed small and meek. His back was obviously bothering him. He was stooped slightly and kept shifting his weight from foot to foot. One look at his nervous face and it was obvious that he was overwhelmed by the crowded city airport.

  Suddenly all of Sami’s fears washed away. There was nothing this man could say or do that would make her go back home against her will. He wasn’t frightening at all. They were on her turf now. No matter what games her father might try to play, Sami had the home court advantage.

  “Hi, Dad,” she said in a strong, confident tone. “Welcome to New York.”

  Mac shook his head. “Some welcome. You should have seen the lines waiting to get the luggage. And now this taxi line. Instead of the Big Apple, they oughtta call this place the Big Line.”

  Celia sighed. “You haven’t seen Sami in four months, and that’s all you can say? Look at her. She’s so sophisticated and hip.”

  “I liked her better the way she used to look. What made you cut your hair, anyway?” Mac groused. “And what’s with all that makeup? You could work in a bordello. Oh yeah, I forgot, isn’t that sort of what you’re doin’?”

  Sami shook her head. “I design lingerie, Dad.”

  “Well, where else do people wear that stuff?” Mac shot back.

  Al stepped between his sister and his father. “I think you look great, kiddo,” he said. “Success has been good for you.”

  “Well, I don’t know how successful I am,” Sami said. She turned to Celia. “I still haven’t put Elk Lake on the map.”

  “You will,” Celia assured her. “Now, did you drive here? Or are you taking a taxi back with us? I’ve got to get off my feet.”

  “My friend Vin volunteered to drive. His van’s over there.”

  As they walked to the van, Sami was pointedly aware that her father had made no attempt to hug her, or even greet her. But then again, she hadn’t, either. It seemed to her that she and her father had more i
n common than either one of them would ever admit.

  During the ride back to Manhattan, Vin kept the conversation light and far from anything that could get Sami into any trouble with her dad. He pointed out various landmarks and talked about New York history with the confidence and knowledge of a professional tour guide. Celia and Al laughed at his jokes, and even Mac seemed interested by Vin’s tales of the city.

  “You know, for a New York boy, you’re all right,” Mac admitted as Vin pulled the van up in front of the Fifth Avenue Hotel. “If it weren’t for that Brooklyn accent, you could be right out of Elk Lake.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Vin said as he hopped out of the van to help Al with the bags.

  Sami got out as well. “Look, tomorrow we’ll spend the whole day together. I know this great Italian restaurant where the waiters sing opera.”

  Mac rolled his eyes.

  “Oh, I think you’ll like it, sir,” Vin said. “The meatballs are huge.”

  “If you say so,” Mac replied, unsure.

  “Besides, tonight we’re all going to that steak house, remember?” Vin said. Sami smiled at him, grateful that on the way into town he’d volunteered to show her family a great local place for dinner that night.

  “How could I forget a big, juicy steak?” Mac asked.

  “I wish I could come, but this benefit is very important. It’s for the costume collection at the museum,” Sami apologized for about the billionth time.

  “It’s okay, Sam,” Celia assured her. “Just make sure you stop by the hotel before you leave. I want to see your dress—and that very large male accessory you’ll have on your arm.” Her eyes grew playful, and for a moment Sami caught a glimpse of the best friend she remembered.

  “I promise,” Sami said. “We’ll be there at seven.”

  Al put his arm around Celia. “We’d better get settled in our room, sweetheart. You need to take a nap. Remember what the doctor said.”

  “What?” Sami asked anxiously. “What did he say?”

  “Nothing,” Celia assured her. “I’m just supposed to rest. I’m seven months pregnant, remember? I’m getting to the end of this thing, so naturally I’m a little tired.”

  Sami smiled. “I can’t believe she’s almost here!”

  Al laughed. “Auntie Sami.”

  Sami wrinkled her nose. “That sounds awfully weird.”

  “If you think that’s weird, try getting used to being called Mommy,” Celia replied.

  “Don’t give her any ideas,” Mac interrupted. “Who knows what kinds of people she meets at that store she works in.”

  “On that note,” Al said, pushing his father toward the hotel lobby, “we’ll see you later, Sami. And we’ll meet you at that restaurant around eight o’clock, Vin.”

  “Just give the cab driver the address on that slip of paper,” Vin told him. “He’ll take you right to the door.”

  As Sami and Vin got back in the van, Sami breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Well, that’s over,” she said. “It was nice of you to volunteer to have dinner with them tonight. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I like them. They’re a lot like my family—only with accents.”

  Sami laughed. “Excuse me?” she asked him. “Mr. Brooklynese himself thinks my family speaks with an accent? How youse guys doin’, anyways?” she teased in an exaggerated Brooklyn accent.

  “Point well taken,” Vin agreed. “Anyhow, I like them.”

  “They like you, too,” Sami agreed. “I only hope they like Franklin half as much.”

  Vin coughed a bit, but only grinned.

  Eighteen

  Sami managed to keep the meeting between Franklin and her family mercifully brief, by arriving at 7:15—giving them less than twenty minutes to meet, greet, and say good-bye. She felt slightly guilty about blowing off Celia that way, but she could already see that Franklin was uncomfortable with her father’s questions about whether photography was Franklin’s job or just his hobby.

  They both breathed a heavy sigh of relief as they stepped out into the New York night and hailed a cab to take them to the Metropolitan Museum of Art for the benefit.

  “Well, they’re all you said … and more,” Franklin said as he got into the cab beside Sami.

  “I know,” Sami agreed. “Hopelessly down home.”

  “Well, it has a certain charm,” Franklin said.

  Sami sat up excitedly. “You really think so?”

  Franklin nodded. “They’re very Martha Stewart.”

  “My dad has actually tried some of her recipes,” Sami answered, unaware of the wry tone in his voice. “They were pretty good, too.”

  “Well, she still has lots of fans. There’s a whole country of them out there,” Franklin said.

  “It’s hard to remember that when you live here,” Sami mused.

  “I know,” Franklin agreed. “That’s why I’ve always felt Manhattan should secede from the Union.”

  They giggled in a conspiratorial way, as only two New Yorkers could. But there was something tentative in Sami’s tone. Franklin had made jokes like that before and Sami had always found them funny. Somehow, tonight, she felt slightly disloyal as she laughed.

  As the taxi pulled up in front of the museum entrance, Franklin pulled a small mirror from his jacket and checked his hair. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he placed the mirror back in his pocket, paid the driver, and hopped out to hold open the door for Sami.

  “Well, the paparazzi are out in full force tonight,” he said with the same bored, slightly annoyed tone Sami had heard some celebrities use at the Year in Fashion Awards show. “We may as well get it over with.”

  Sami shrugged. “They won’t be bothering us, anyway,” she assured him. “They’re looking for the stars.”

  For a moment, Franklin looked as though he’d been punched. Then he gathered his thoughts and stood just a little straighter. “Are you kidding?” he said. “You’re Sami Granger. And I’m Franklin Beane. Haven’t you heard? We’re the next generation of fashion royalty.”

  Sami smiled and began to laugh.

  The really funny thing was, Franklin wasn’t laughing at all. “Come on, Sami,” he urged her as they walked toward the large tent that had been set up as an entranceway for invited guests. “And stop laughing. You don’t want to wind up in tomorrow’s paper with your eyes all squinty and the inside of your mouth showing.”

  Sami had never been inside the Metropolitan Museum of Art before. She’d always wanted to go, but things had gotten so busy that she hadn’t had the chance. She wanted to stop and look at some of the statues and pieces of art in the huge entranceway, but Franklin pulled her away. “Nothing’s happening out here, baby. We’ve got to be where the action is.”

  Sami followed Franklin through the Egyptian wing of the museum, past the mummies and papyrus paintings and finally into the huge, glass-enclosed room that was home to the Temple of Dendur exhibit. Sami gasped as she entered the room. In her whole life she had never been anywhere this beautiful. The temple itself was a small ancient stone structure that had been transported from Egypt and reconstructed in the center of the room. At the moment, carefully placed lights bathed the temple and the palm trees surrounding it in a rainbow of colors. A band played on a stage in the front of the room, and waiters walked purposefully throughout, carrying silver trays with magnificently prepared hors d’oeuvres.

  “Caviar?” a waitress asked as she stopped and held out a tray of small crackers with a black topping on them.

  Sami’s eyes lit up. “I’ve always wanted to try caviar.”

  “You’ve never had it?” Franklin asked, amazed. “Oh, then, you have to!” He picked up a small cracker with a thin layer of fish eggs spread over it and popped it into Sami’s mouth. It was a romantic display, something like a groom giving his bride a piece of wedding cake.

  But the caviar didn’t taste at all like cake. It was salty, fishy, and basically just awful. The flavor was so overwhelming that Sami forgot herself.
She spit as hard as she could, desperate to get rid of the taste. The fish eggs flew out of Sami’s mouth, and landed on the back of the dress of a woman standing in front of her.

  “Oh, God,” Sami cried out, embarrassed.

  Franklin quickly dragged her across the room and away from the woman with the fish egg-stained dress. “Don’t worry,” he said, anxious to have Sami regain her composure before someone got suspicious. “She doesn’t have eyes in the back of her head. She won’t know a thing until she gets home tonight.”

  “But that dress must be worth at least five thousand dollars! It’s an original Versace!”

  “And now that woman has a touch of original Sami Granger artwork to go with it,” Franklin teased. “Lucky her. A few years and she’ll want to have it framed and insured.”

  “Artwork!”

  “Sure.” Franklin laughed. “Have you seen some of the things in the modern art wing? They don’t look any different than that caviar stain. Now relax. Look happy. Smile.”

  “But that really was awful,” she insisted to Franklin. “So salty. Now I’m terribly thirsty.”

  Franklin looked over at the bar. Real estate mogul Donald Trump was standing nearby, chatting with former New York mayor Rudy Giuliani. “I’ll get you something to drink,” Franklin volunteered. “Why don’t you go over to the buffet and have some fruit? That’ll get the fishy taste out of your mouth.”

  “Good idea,” Sami agreed.

  “What’s your poison?” Franklin asked her.

  “Oh, I’ll just have an iced tea or something,” Sami replied.

  While Franklin chatted up Rudy and the Donald, Sami piled melon and grapes onto a small china plate. As she made her way down the cold buffet line, a tall, leggy woman with long blond hair stepped up beside her. “Aren’t you Sami Granger?” she asked her.

  Sami nodded and studied the woman’s face. She didn’t look familiar, but it was obvious that they must have met somewhere before, since the woman had so clearly recognized Sami. So where had they met? Was this woman one of Lola’s customers? Sami doubted it. She also was pretty sure that this person wasn’t the type to eat the lunch special at Hunan Garden or Pizza Piazza. “I’m sorry,” Sami said finally, giving up on trying to place this woman. “I … well, this is so embarrassing, but I don’t recall—”