Better Than Your Dreams

by Dee Ernst

  “No.”

  “Quarantined?”

  “No. Mona, I just need a place to stay for a while.”

  “Just you?”

  “Yes.”

  Silence hung in the air.

  “Because?”

  “Mona, I’m asking a favor. Yes or no?”

  “Did you cheat on Dominique?”

  “I don’t think my relationship with Dominique has any bearing on this. I’m asking a favor.”

  I raised my head and looked him in the eye. “No.”

  His eyes widened in surprise. “What?”

  “No. Obviously you learned absolutely nothing in the past five years. I can’t abide stupidity, Brian. I never could. Find another place to crash.”

  He threw his hands up in the air. “Dominique has a bee up her butt. There’s nothing going on, but she doesn’t believe me. She’s still going through that postpartum thing; her hormones are all over the place, and she’s totally irrational.”

  I choked back a laugh. “Postpartum thing? Hormones? Really, Brian? How about you’re cheating on her, just like you cheated on me, and she figured it out a lot sooner than I did, because she knew from the very start that you were a miserable SOB who can’t be trusted.”

  I watched him as he went from battle mode to wheedling mode in a heartbeat. “Mona, it’s snowing outside; the roads are a mess—how about just tonight? I’ll start looking for a place tomorrow morning.”

  “Why don’t you stay with your mother?”

  He actually flushed. “She’s not speaking to me.”

  “Wow, Brian. Even your mother? How big a screw up do you feel like right now?”

  “You know what, Mona? There are two sides to every story. Why are you automatically assuming I’m at fault here?”

  “Personal experience?”

  He leaned forward and buried his head in his hands. I saw his shoulders rise and fall. When he looked up, his face looked old. “I’ve really made a mess of my life, haven’t I?” he asked quietly.

  I sat back. He’d never, in all the years I’d known and loved him, said anything like that before.

  “Yes, Brian. You have. But you’re right; there are two sides to every story. Including ours. I loved you, Brian, and I wanted so badly to be happily married that I let you coast along while I did all the work. I did us both a disservice. I spent so many years thinking I knew what marriage was, and I was wrong all along. I think our daughters were smart enough to know that what we had wasn’t the way things were supposed to work. I wish I had been that smart. I wish had thrown you out much sooner.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No, Brian. I’m not trying to kick you while you’re down. We both learned some very bad lessons. And we’re both suffering for them now.”

  “You?”

  “Yes, me. Everything I thought I knew about marriage came from one place. A wrong place. I should have been willing to look beyond you and me. I should have been able to realize that marriage is not about the institution itself. It’s about two people coming together. Different people have very different results. You and I brought out the wrong things in each other. That’s why we failed.”

  “But you think we can succeed? With the right person?”

  “The trick is finding the right person. I thought I had. In fact, he might have been the only person for me. But taking another leap—that was the scary part. Very scary. As for you, I don’t know, Brian. Maybe if you learn to keep it in your pants.”

  “So you think you and Ben can have one last happily-ever-after?”

  “I hope so.” I thought about Ben. Was it even possible we could somehow be together again? “God, I really hope so.”

  “Tell me again why Brian is living here?” Patricia asked.

  Brian had been up in Lily’s old suite for almost a week now. “Because I’m a marshmallow, that’s why. And I actually felt sorry for him. I think he finally realized how badly he’s screwed up. He’s looking for a place to live. In fact, he’s signing a lease this weekend and will be out by the wedding.”

  We had finished lunch and were watching a group of non-English-speaking men in hoodies clear every stray leaf, twig, and dead flower stem out of my backyard. We stood on the deck. The sunlight was feeble, but with no wind it was almost pleasant.

  “I think it’s very kind of you,” MarshaMarsha said. “He’s obviously going through a rough time.”

  “Why can’t he just move in with the new paramour?” Patricia asked. “That’s what he did last time.” Five years ago, just about this time of year, I had found out about Brian and Dominique. He had moved from our house into the condo he had bought with her the previous fall.

  I shrugged. “I think the new paramour is still living with her parents.”

  Patricia made a very rude noise. Even MarshaMarsha registered disapproval.

  I had called my usual yard guy and asked for an early cleanup. They had arrived three days earlier and did what I thought was a very respectable job of removing all the winter leftovers. But this crew really took it to another level. They had raked the whole yard twice, and were now going over it again, picking up stray bits by hand.

  The wedding was ten days away. The azaleas were not going to be in bloom, but the bank of forsythia that spread across the back of my property looked ready to burst. The daffodils were up, and the tulips were right behind. The grass was turning green, and the hostas were peeking through. If we didn’t get a major snowstorm in the next week, we’d be in great shape for a wedding.

  “When is the rehearsal dinner?” Patricia asked.

  “Next week. Wednesday night. The bishop was busy with Easter this weekend, so they pushed it into the week. At a restaurant in Manhattan, one of those places where you have to know the owner to get in,” I told them.

  “But don’t you have to rehearse first?” MarshaMarsha asked.

  “Carmella worked it all out,” I said. “She’s going to re-create the setting. How much practice are they going to need?”

  “Oh, my goodness,” MarshaMarsha said. “Look at that—he’s using the leaf blower like a vacuum cleaner. I wonder if my leaf blower can do that?”

  “Wait—is he actually picking those leaves off the tree?” Patricia asked, obviously impressed.

  “Well,” I said, “they are all brown and ugly. Can’t have brown and ugly on Mr. DeMatriano’s big day.”

  “Isn’t it Lily’s big day?” Patricia asked.

  “Not as far as Carmella is concerned,” I told her. “I invited Lily to spend the night before back in her old rooms, and Carmella got upset. She wanted to stay here so she could supervise.”

  “So, who’s staying?” MarshaMarsha asked.

  “Both of them. Lily’s getting the third floor, and Carmella is staying in Miranda’s old room.”

  “Well, now, that should be interesting.” Patricia looked at me with raised eyebrows. “And the girls?”

  I sighed. “Lauren and Jessica were invited to the wedding, of course, so they’ll be here as well. And my sister is flying in to attend. She sent me an e-mail. She had such a good time at Miranda’s wedding, she’s coming out to continue rebuilding important familial relationships. Lily is thrilled. She’s considering it her bachelorette party. She wants pizza and popcorn, but declined Jessica’s offer of a stripper. I’m thinking back to when the girls were in grade school and had slumber parties, but with more vodka.”

  “Dear God,” Patricia said. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Of course she is,” MarshaMarsha said. “It will be a terrific bonding experience for all of them.”

  Patricia shivered delicately.

  I shrugged. “The whole weekend is going to be a circus anyway, so why not? After all, I owe Lily so much—she’s been a great help to me; you know that. As for Carmella, well, since it looks like we’ll be in each other’s lives from now on, I should at least get to know her a bit more.” And find out who—if anyone—she’d been dating. “She’d be here all day anyway; a
fter all, she’s in charge of this show. And it will be good for Grace to be here. We kind of got along when she was here, and it’s important that the girls get to know their only aunt.”

  “Well, when you put it like that,” Patricia said, “it almost makes sense.” She shot me a look. “Was Ben invited?”

  “Of course,” I told her. “So were David and Miranda. In fact, the kids are staying at Ben’s for the night.”

  “Ahh,” she said.

  “Ahh what?” I said. I looked at the both of them and threw up my hands. “Yes, Ben is going to be at the wedding, and we haven’t spoken in months, and I miss him like crazy, and I don’t know what I’m going to do about it.”

  “You know,” Marsha said slowly, “the back window of my bedroom overlooks this yard perfectly. If anyone wanted to be a fly on the wall…”

  Patricia grinned. “It’s a date.”

  I was going to drive myself into Manhattan for the rehearsal dinner. After all, I could park my car at the Port Authority and take a cab downtown. But Lily offered a car and driver, and how often does that happen? I felt slightly guilty and pleased at the same time. Then a car showed up, and it was Alex Ciavaglia.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” I told him.

  He shrugged. “I live in Mendham. I’d be driving out there myself anyway, so I asked Carmella. She was going to send somebody to get you, but since I already knew where you lived, I offered.” He opened the car door for me. “Hope you’re not disappointed.”

  I waited until he got into his car and backed out of the driveway. “Well, to be honest, I was hoping for a big, silent type with scars and a lisp.”

  He glanced at me and grinned. “Louie ‘Let-me-at-’em’ Lombardi?”

  I nodded. “Or maybe Bennie ‘Break-a-leg’ Bonanno.”

  “I think I’ve met Bennie. Very nice guy.”

  “I’m sure. You know that Lily, as well as Carmella, will be spending the night before the wedding with me?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I’ve been assigned to cover Vinnie, unfortunately. I’m to follow him from breakfast, across the bridge, and stay with him until the very end. I offered to follow the bride. My feeling is that anywhere Lily is has to be more interesting than anywhere else.”

  “You’re right about that. I think she expects some giggly girls’ night, right out of Gidget. Has she settled into the Bay Ridge house?”

  “I haven’t been there myself. Rumor has it she’s repainted everything lavender.”

  Alex must have had excellent directions or had been to the restaurant before, because two seconds after turning off Broadway, I was lost. Little Italy was a warren of tiny side streets, most of them one way. He parked the car in a small lot, and we walked four short, crowded blocks. Number 732 was a plain blue door.

  “Please tell me you need a secret knock,” I said.

  He laughed and turned the knob. To my disappointment, the door opened easily, and we walked down a narrow hallway, turned a corner, and the space suddenly opened into a vast single room, low ceilinged, with the entire back wall opened to a dimly lit courtyard. One long table was in the center of the room. No corny accordion music playing or fake ivy dripping from brass chandeliers. I looked around quickly and was disappointed that there was not a corner table of old men, all wearing slouch hats and drinking red wine from juice glasses. Wasn’t that how it had been whenever Tony Soprano went out to eat?

  There was a lone waiter who looked up from folding napkins and hurried off.

  “We have the whole restaurant?”

  He shrugged. “Probably. Vinnie has some very good friends.”

  I was not comforted. “Perfect.”

  “We’re here a little early,” he said. He had brought his leather case in with him, and he pulled out his video camera. “I have to work. Do you mind?”

  I shook my head. “Not at all.”

  A short, bald man came running out. He clasped Alex’s hand, then hurried to take my coat.

  “And you are?” he asked.

  “Mona Quincy. Matron of honor.”

  He bowed. “A pleasure. I am Nick. You are early, yes? But please sit, and I’ll bring you wine.”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  Alex disappeared. Filming the arrivals of all the major players, I assumed. What was Carmella going to do with all of this footage anyway? Maybe she was putting together a pilot for a reality show. I could imagine that a show based on the life of a wedding planner who also happened to be the niece of a known kingpin would be considered a hot property. Add in a home life that included stepmom Lily, and you had a real winner.

  I wandered over to the wall of glass and saw that the courtyard was set up in a reasonable representation of what my yard would look like, at least the area where the actual ceremony would take place. Very clever, Carmella. I had to give her credit. Nick brought out a single glass of wine on a silver tray, serving me in silence. I slid open the glass door and stepped into the courtyard. It was cool, no breeze. I looked up. The stars were peeking out. It was all just beautiful.

  “You must be Mona,” a low voice behind me said.

  I turned and found myself looking at Joseph DeMatriano, longtime head of DeMatriano crime family and shoe salesman extraordinaire. He was short and powerfully built, salt-and-pepper hair brushed back from his high forehead, eyes very black and narrow. I knew he was fifty-four. He was in a perfectly cut gray suit, and at his side was a striking woman, maybe my age, in an obviously designer outfit.

  He held out his hand. “I’m Joe DeMatriano.”

  I shook his hand. It was surprisingly soft. Obviously he didn’t do too much hard work himself. He probably just pointed and spoke in a whisper.

  “And this is Angela,” he said.

  Angela nodded, but kept her hands folded over her Hermès bag.

  “A pleasure,” I said. My voice cracked a little, so I sipped some wine. “It looks like the weather for the next week is going to be perfect.” Weather? I was talking about the weather?

  That must have been good for Joe. “Yes,” he said. He turned slightly to take a glass of wine off another silver tray, which had silently appeared. Angela also took a glass, but did not drink. She glanced around.

  “I’m going in and sitting down,” she said, and walked off.

  Joe and I stood in the courtyard. “Your aunt,” he said, in a voice like silk, “is quite a character.”

  “Yes.” My voice was back to normal. “She’s always had her own, ah, compass.”

  His thin lips turned slightly. I assumed that was his version of a smile. “There aren’t many people I like the way I like Lily,” he said. “And it’s not often I welcome someone into the family with such enthusiasm.”

  I smiled brightly. Yes, I could imagine.

  “My uncle,” he continued, “is a good man. They’re well matched.”

  I nodded, still smiling. Where was Lily anyway? This was her rehearsal dinner. Shouldn’t she be here by now?

  “And of course, Carmella is doing her usual amazing job. That woman can accomplish anything she puts her mind to.”

  I stayed smiling. “Yes, she certainly seems to know what she’s doing.” I forced myself to look at Joe, rather than search the room behind him for someone—anyone—else.

  He sipped his wine. “It’s very generous of you to host the wedding. You have a lovely home.”

  My smile froze. He had seen my home? When had he seen my home? “Ah, yes. Well, Lily is family, after all.”

  Lily, my family, finally came in. She threw her arms around me. “Mona, what is that asshat of an ex-husband doing at your house?”

  She looked bright and happy, her gray hair slicked back, makeup perfect.

  “He needed a place to stay. Not to worry. He’s moving out tomorrow.” I nodded at Tony, then gave Vinnie a kiss on the cheek.

  “Joe!” Mona cried. “You’ve finally gotten to meet Mona. Isn’t she wonderful?”

  He flashed a quick smile. “Wonderful.” He turned to me. “You
’re still having problems with your ex?”

  Years ago, when Brian first moved out and was planning a trip back to reclaim some of his belongings, Aunt Lily had called her good friend Joe because she didn’t feel comfortable being alone with Brian. Joe had graciously sent a knee-breaker named Mickey to protect Lily from harm. Luckily Mickey’s services were not needed, but Brian was apparently still on the radar.

  I shook my head quickly. “No. He’s just taking a bit longer to move on than I had hoped.”

  Joe raised an eyebrow. “I might be able to help you with that.”

  My heart froze in my throat, and I pasted on another smile. “No, thanks, Joe. It’s good.” I turned to Lily. “Tell him it’s good.”

  Lily put her arm through Joe’s and walked him back into the main room, laughing. I stepped back and leaned against the cool brick wall of the courtyard.

  “Another glass of wine?” Tony asked me. He looked very solemn, but there was a tiny smile around his lips.

  “No, Tony. Thanks.”

  “Can I offer you a piece of advice?” he asked softly.

  I nodded.

  “Be very careful about what you say. Mr. DeMatriano takes things very…seriously. If he thought that you were in any way uncomfortable because of a certain person, well…”

  “Got it, Tony. Thanks.”

  In a matter of minutes the bishop arrived, as well as Carmella and the rest of Vinnie’s immediate family. Trev I knew, but Paulie had flown in from France for his Pop-Pop’s wedding. Suzi and Enza were also there, with husbands and various grown children, all of whom blended together in a blur of dark hair, dark eyes, white teeth, and obvious opulence. Alex hung back, his eye glued to the camera as the bishop (call me Francis) walked us through what was a very short and straightforward rehearsal.

  Francis, Vinnie, and Joe would walk up the aisle first. Suzi’s daughter, an obviously beautiful and gifted young woman, would sing “Ave Maria” a cappella. Then I would walk down, followed by Lily. Words would be said. Rings would be exchanged. The bishop would raise his hands, and bingo—man and wife.