by Peg Cochran
Alex Grabowski was talking to a group of people, one hand in his pocket jingling his change and the other holding a glass of champagne. Taylor was standing next to him, a sulky, disinterested look on his face. He was wearing an ascot, something Lucille had only ever seen in old black-and-white movies on television. There was something about the kid that Lucille couldn’t put her finger on. Someone in the group must have said something funny, because Taylor laughed, and his hands fluttered up around his face.
Lucille searched the room for Flo. Flo was still miffed that Bernadette was marrying Taylor and not waiting for her son Tony who was, after all, the father of Bernadette’s baby. She couldn’t seem to get it into her head that Tony wasn’t waiting for Bernadette either—he told her he didn’t want to get married and that was that. It didn’t help that Taylor stood to inherit a lot of money, and Flo was a tiny bit jealous. Or that she hated Donna DeLucca’s guts and had ever since Donna purposely hit Flo in the head during a game of dodgeball in phys ed class. Flo had sprouted a magnificent shiner the day before the big homecoming dance that even an inch-thick layer of concealer couldn’t cover up.
Flo would come around. She and Lucille had been best friends since second grade. Lucille just needed to give her some time. It was a good sign that she hadn’t turned down the invitation to the rehearsal dinner. Lucille’s new turquoise dress seemed rather dowdy compared to Flo’s, a leopard-print wrap dress that showed way too much cleavage and plenty of leg. But that was Flo for you—she wasn’t about to hide her light under no bushel.
Suddenly someone began clanging a fork against the side of a glass. Lucille strained to see over the crowd. It was Alex. Slowly everyone quieted down.
Alex Grabowski smiled at everyone and raised his glass of champagne. “Welcome, everyone, to our little dinner tonight.”
Little? Lucille thought it was anything but. Waiters in short black jackets and bow ties were scurrying around like ants filling water glasses and placing salads at each of the place settings.
“This is a very special occasion,” Alex continued. “And we’re glad you’re all here to celebrate it with us. If you’ll find your seat, dinner will be served shortly.”
Lucille glanced at one of the tables. There were fancy place cards with everyone’s name written on them in elaborate script. Lucille went from table to table until she found hers. She breathed a sigh of relief. Frankie was next to her. She ran a finger around the neck of her dress. All this elegance was beginning to make her sweat.
Alex Grabowski took the seat on Lucille’s other side and Donna sat down next to him. Maria, Donna’s sister, was on her other side. She was older than Donna and was out of high school before Lucille started. She’d never married, which Lucille thought was a shame. But she had a good job, and Donna had told Lucille that she had her own condo. She was wearing a plain dress—not sexy like Donna’s—in a pretty color. But she had a kind of sour look about her that ruined the effect.
Bernadette and Taylor were seated next. Lucille could just see them over the floral centerpiece. Bernadette immediately picked up her fork and began eating her salad, her hair falling across her face like a curtain. Flo was across the table from Lucille, giving her a squinty-eyed look. Lucille squinted right back at her.
“What’s the matter?” Frankie poked her. “Got something in your eye?”
Lucille shook her head and quickly busied herself with her napkin. She stared at the array of silverware beside her plate then glanced over at Donna. Donna was fiddling with her place card, and Lucille waited patiently until Donna picked up the first fork to the left.
Lucille did the same and tucked into her salad. Suddenly she was starving. She’d been running around all day and hadn’t had time for more than a leftover piece of coffee cake, a half a sandwich she’d found in the fridge and a Snickers bar. She glanced at Taylor, and he was fussing with his first course, prissily picking bits off the lettuce leaves and discarding them on the plate underneath. Lucille noticed he had long, delicate fingers and his nails were shiny. She had heard of men getting manicures and having their nails buffed, but it wasn’t something she had ever actually seen before.
Flo was looking at Taylor’s hands, too. She looked over at Lucille and smirked. Lucille shot her a dirty look back and bent her head over her salad.
Waiters were clearing away their empty plates when Alex clapped his hands together. He put an arm around Bernadette and pulled her toward him. Bernadette looked like she wanted to sock him, and Lucille held her breath.
“What an occasion, huh?” He glanced around the table and beamed. “These two great kids getting married.” He hugged Bernadette closer and Bernadette rolled her eyes. “We’re not losing a son, we’re gaining a daughter, right, Donna?”
Donna gave a tight smile.
Alex gave a loud guffaw. “We wondered if Taylor would ever settle down. He was always hanging out with his friends and claimed he had no time for girls.”
This time Flo smirked at Lucille in earnest.
“But he was just waiting until the right girl came along, and his mother and I couldn’t be happier.”
Donna gave another rigid smile. Lucille wondered if she’d had some work done. Her skin was stretched as tight as a piece of plastic wrap over a bowl of leftovers.
Alex began talking to Flo, and Lucille saw him reach into his back pocket. He got out his wallet and pulled out a card, which he handed to Flo. He looked around the table and waved his wallet. Lucille imagined it was stuffed with twenty-dollar bills.
“I had my pocket picked last week,” he said. “The bastard got my wallet and all my credit cards.”
“I had to run to the mall to get him another one,” Donna said. “Then I spent hours on the phone canceling the cards and arranging for new ones.” She made it sound as if the whole thing had completely exhausted her.
Lucille felt around under the table with her foot for her purse. She would hate to lose her wallet. She had a baby picture in there of Bernadette that couldn’t be replaced and one of herself and Frankie, back when they were still dating, taken in one of those photo booths on the boardwalk down in Wildwood. It was all faded now, but looking at it still brought back good memories.
Waiters slid the main course in front of them. Lucille had opted for the steak—although on the menu they were calling it filet mignon. Sounded like a good name for a horse, not a piece of meat, but she had to admit, it looked tasty.
Everyone was quiet as they began their main course. Lucille glanced over to where her mother, sister, brother-in-law, and Louis and Millie were sitting with a fierce-looking white-haired woman dressed in head-to-toe black. Lucille recognized her as Old Mrs. DeLucca—as everyone called her—Donna’s grandmother. She was about to turn one hundred and couldn’t see or hear none too well.
Seeing Louis and Millie reminded Lucille that she’d meant to talk to Donna. She leaned across Frank and pointed her fork at Donna.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you. When are they going to start the construction on Louis and Millie’s house? They been staying with us, and things are getting a bit cramped if you know what I mean.”
Donna paused with a bite of salmon halfway to her mouth. She looked at Lucille and then at her husband.
Alex gave Lucille a big smile that didn’t fool Lucille for a minute. He clapped her on the back.
“Lucille,” he said with an overabundance of enthusiasm and a flash of professionally whitened teeth. “Didn’t Donna tell you?”
Donna glared at her husband.
“We’re not rebuilding the house. We’ve sold the property to a developer.” Alex pulled a toothpick from his pocket and stuck it into the corner of his mouth. “He’s going to buy up the houses around our lot and build some high-priced condos. New Providence is becoming a lot more upscale, you know. Not like in our day.”
The information hit Lucille like a blow. Not rebuild Louis and Millie’s house? What were they going to do? What was she going to do? Frankie had put the pool
table in storage, and a couple of buddies had helped him build a partition separating that end of the rec room in two. They’d charged a pair of twin beds and some cheap dressers. The setup wasn’t meant to be permanent.
“You got to be kidding. Right?” Lucille looked at Alex and then Donna for confirmation. Donna looked down at her plate and Alex continued to smile his fake smile.
“You can’t do that,” Lucille protested, her voice rising. A couple of people at the table next to them turned in their direction.
“We can do anything we want,” Donna snapped.
“Come on,” Lucille pleaded. “Louis and Millie have nowheres to go.”
“That doesn’t concern us.” Donna stuck her nose in the air. “It’s not our fault those two useless bums burned down the house.”
“Hey,” Lucille’s voice rose further and more people began turning their heads in her direction. “Who are you calling useless bums? Louis and Millie are family.” She gestured toward Frank. “They’re Frank’s father’s cousins.”
“They’re not our family.” A dark red flush crept up Donna’s chest toward her face.
“Sure they are. We’re all family now.” Lucille pointed at Bernadette and Taylor. “Our two kids is getting married.”
“The only reason we’re letting our son marry that . . . that trampy daughter of yours is because . . .” Donna said before clamping her mouth firmly shut.
“Trampy, huh? I’ll give you trampy.” Lucille leaned across Frank and grabbed hold of Donna’s dress.
By now most of the room had quit eating and was focusing all their attention on Lucille and Donna, as eager for blood as an audience at a prizefight.
Donna jumped up and gave Lucille a shove, sending her careening backward into the table behind them. One of the women squealed as her glass overturned and water dripped onto her lap.
Flo sprang to her feet. “You can’t do that to my friend.” She picked up her plate of half-eaten cake and, with more than thirty years of pent-up anger, smashed it into Donna’s face.
Meanwhile Lucille had rebounded and was about to grab Donna again when Frankie got hold of her arm and yanked her back. He put out his other arm to ward off Flo, who was leaning in for further attack.
“Come on, Lu. Flo. Get a grip. Think of the kids.”
Lucille slid back into her chair, chest heaving, her face settling into a pout. She glanced at Bernadette, who was calmly polishing off the last bite of her cake. Taylor was leaning over the back of his chair talking earnestly with a young man at the table behind him. It was the most animated Lucille had ever seen him.
She and Donna eyed each other and then looked away quickly. Donna picked up her napkin and began wiping the cake off her face. Flo resumed her seat and straightened her dress. She’d come perilously close to what the newspapers and those trashy magazines had taken to calling a wardrobe malfunction.
Taylor continued to talk to the young man behind him, but the rest of them finished their dessert and coffee in silence.
Lucille’s heartbeat refused to go back to normal. She was thinking furiously. On the one hand, she wanted to stand up and walk out, taking Bernadette with her. On the other hand, there was the matter of Bernadette being pregnant and not having a husband. Lucille read the papers—she knew all about them “baby daddies” the Hollywood stars had instead of husbands. That was fine for them. Hollywood was a different world. No one like old Mrs. De Stefano or that stuck-up Gina Battaglia from St. Rocco’s Flower Committee was going to raise their eyebrows at the stars. But Bernadette? Lucille folded her arms across her chest. She’d just have to let Donna win this one, as much as it was going to kill her.
But she made damn sure she was the one to grab the centerpiece off the table when it came time to leave. She walked out of the Pantagis Renaissance holding it high like a trophy. Donna may have won round one, but Lucille was ready and waiting for round two.
On a positive note, Flo seemed to be talking to her again, and that made Lucille happy.
• • •
“Man, I’m tired,” Frankie groaned as he and Lucille got ready for bed.
Lucille wasn’t tired at all. As a matter of fact, she was feeling rather frisky. She took a little extra time in the bathroom, dabbing some perfume behind her ears and putting a dash of powder on her nose. She didn’t wrap toilet paper around her set the way she normally did to preserve it but tidied her hair instead. Besides, she had an appointment at the Clip and Curl to get it done for the wedding.
Her old nightgown with the hole under the arm was hanging on the hook on the back of the bathroom door. Lucille left it there and tiptoed into the bedroom. Frank was already stretched out in bed, his eyes half closed. Lucille quietly opened her dresser drawer and took out the fancy chiffon nightgown Frankie had given her for her birthday a couple of years back. She hardly ever wore it, what with it needing to be washed separately and then air dried instead of being dumped into the dryer with the rest of the clothes.
Lucille carefully slipped it over her head. Feathers lined the low, scooped neckline, and for a second Lucille thought she was going to sneeze. She pressed a finger under her nose and stifled it. She caught a glimpse of herself in the bedroom mirror and frowned. Maybe she’d better dim the lights a little.
Lucille slipped under the covers and scooted across the bed until she was pressed up close to Frankie. He grunted.
“Frankie,” Lucille said in her most seductive voice as she ran her fingers up and down his back.
No answer.
“Frankie,” Lucille said a little more loudly as her fingers wandered around to all the places she knew he liked.
Frank inched away from her. “Go to sleep, Lucille. I’m tired, okay?”
Stunned, Lucille inched over to the other side of the bed and clutched the covers to her chest. What on earth had gotten into Frankie? Normally it took next to nothing to get him interested.
She remembered earlier that evening how he’d avoided her kiss. Wasn’t he attracted to her no more? Maybe she ought to talk to that plastic surgeon Flo had started working for. And go back on her diet.
She’d never had to worry about stuff like that before. Frankie had always been hot for her no matter what—even when her hair needed doing or she was dressed in the old sweats she wore to clean the house.
Thoughts went around and around in Lucille’s head, keeping her awake till way past midnight.
Chapter 3
Lucille’s alarm went off at seven o’clock. She desperately wanted to turn over and go back to sleep, but with the wedding at two p.m. there was no time to waste. She was surprised to find herself wearing her special occasion nightgown, as she thought of it, but then the events of the evening before came flooding back. She glanced at the bed. Frankie was still asleep, one foot stuck outside the covers. He always said he was too hot with both feet under the blankets. Lucille couldn’t imagine what difference it made, but it was one of those things that made Frankie Frankie.
She was tempted to wake him—just to see if she could stir a little something up. But she was scared. What if he rejected her again? She couldn’t understand it—it wasn’t like they’d had some kind of argument or anything. But even then, she’d never known Frankie to turn away.
Lucille decided to leave well enough alone. She pulled on her bathrobe and went downstairs to make the coffee.
It was kind of nice sitting in the kitchen all by herself. Louis and Millie hadn’t surfaced yet, and Bernadette was still asleep. She slept a lot these days, probably on account of the pregnancy. Come to think of it, she used to sleep a lot before getting pregnant. The only time Lucille could remember Bernadette not wanting to sleep was when she was three months old.
Lucille sat at the table with her cup of coffee and a slice of coffee cake. She’d been trying to diet so as to fit into a smaller size for the wedding, but it hadn’t gone very well. Now it didn’t matter with the wedding only a few hours off.
She was picking the crumbs off her plate
and contemplating a second piece when she heard footsteps on the stairs, and Bernadette sidled into the room. She opened the refrigerator and stood in front of it, idly scratching her belly.
“You want some eggs?” Lucille jumped up from the table. “I could make you some nice fried eggs and a little toast maybe.”
Bernadette shook the hair out of her eyes. “Pancakes,” she said, closing the door.
“You want pancakes? Okay, fine. You sit and I’ll get them going. But we don’t have all day. You have your hair appointment, and I have mine. And we want to leave plenty of time to get to the church so we don’t have to rush.” Lucille pushed aside the kitchen curtain. “Look, it’s a beautiful day. That’s a good omen.”
“I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to get married.”
Lucille didn’t pause in what she was doing—mixing flour and milk and eggs and getting some butter melting in the frying pan. If she didn’t stop, then maybe Bernadette’s words would go away. Lucille had already poured the first pancakes when she realized this tactic wasn’t going to work.
She turned around, hands on hips. “What do you mean, you don’t want to get married?”
Bernadette shrugged. “I just got a text from Tony. He’s on his way back from Afghanistan and wants to talk.” Bernadette twirled a piece of hair around and around her finger.
“Are you crazy?” Lucille’s voice began to rise and she hastened to lower it. “Everything’s all set—the church, the flowers, your dress. The Towne Deli is making up the platters of cold cuts and Mrs. De Stefano and Mrs. De Pasquale have been working on the lasagnas since dawn.” Lucille paused for breath. “And what about the cake? Huh? They’re making it special just the way you wanted.”
Bernadette continued to twirl the hair around her finger.
Frankie, Lucille thought frantically. He’d talk some sense into Bernadette. It would all be okay. She’d just keep on doing what she needed to do, and before they knew it Bernadette would be walking down the aisle and Father Brennan would be declaring Bernadette and Taylor man and wife.
