by Joseph Flynn
“It is not. Superconductivity is utterly fascinating. Our new composite materials are getting closer to working at room temperature.”
“So’s the fish I’m thawing for dinner.”
“The work I’m doing is going to affect every facet of your life someday.”
“David, my life is boring, and so is your work.”
He continued to argue with Robin until Mimi reminded him of the time and sent him packing with a free cookie. Which he may have resented, but was smart enough to take.
“I think you’ve got a new young beau,” Mimi said to Robin.
“Great. As soon as I develop a taste for child molestation, I’ll whisk him off to my boudoir,” she replied.
The two women sat in Mimi’s office at the back of the kitchen. It was 2:30, the time at which the deli closed; it opened at 7:30. The staff started at 7:00, and cleanup lasted until 3:00. Mimi had decided long ago that eight hours a day were long enough for anyone to work. But she and Robin worked only seven and a half. They left the cleanup to the rest of the staff. After all, Mimi was the owner and Robin was buying her out.
The plan was that Robin would complete the purchase over the next two years, making the final payment when Mimi turned sixty-five and retired. Mimi finished tallying the day’s take. She banded and stacked the bills by denominations and put them in a bank deposit bag. She sealed the bag and put it on the floor next to her desk.
“Another good day,” she said. “Thank God people always get hungry.”
“Yeah,” Robin answered without enthusiasm.
“What?” Mimi asked. “You’re letting a little boy’s puppy love bother you?”
Robin rolled her eyes. “It’s not David. I can handle him like anyone else. It’s my house.”
“What about it?”
“Just about everything about it. I’ve got to go home and wait for a plumber because the garbage disposal’s all gummed up. It happened this morning just before I left for work, and I can just imagine what my kitchen’s going to smell like. Last week it was the plumber again when a pipe burst, and while the guy was down in the basement he said he wasn’t an expert but thought it looked like I should have my wiring checked.”
“I thought you had all that stuff done when you bought the place,” Mimi said.
“I had most of it done when I bought the place,” Robin corrected, “ and that was seventeen years ago. Two years after I started here.”
“It’s been that long that we’ve been together?”
“Yeah.”
“My, how time flies. I’ll be gone before you know it.”
It wasn’t clear to Robin whether Mimi meant retired or dead. She didn’t seem too happy about either prospect.
“The problem is,” Robin said, “if I keep having a lot of expenses with my building, I’m going to have to dip into the money I’m putting aside for the buyout.”
That returned Mimi’s focus to the present.
“Oh ... that’s not good.”
“Tell me about it. I might have to take a second job.”
That was definitely not good. Not for Mimi. She couldn’t have Robin, her star, working in somebody else’s deli. That would be like a gourmet place having its chef moonlight. No, that wouldn’t do at all. And it wasn’t like Robin could pick up some other kind of part-time job, not with her personality. Mimi didn’t see her selling shoes or doing telemarketing.
At the same time, Mimi was counting on having Robin buy her out, counting on the money. It would be a pain to find another buyer now, and she couldn’t see Robin working for a new owner. She really couldn’t see selling her deli to anyone but Robin, for that matter. There was a tradition to carry on.
“Don’t worry,” Mimi told Robin, “we’ll work something out.”
“Of course, we will,” came a male voice.
“You bet,” said another.
The second voice belonged to Sergeant Stanley Prozanski, the cop who escorted Mimi to the bank everyday to deposit her receipts. He was under strict shoot-to-kill orders in the event anyone ever tried to grab’s Mimi loot.
Though she’d never admit it, Mimi considered Stan her fella. He was due to retire soon, too, and everyone was sure that when the time came he and Mimi would go off somewhere warm together. Mimi patted her hair and smiled at Stan when she saw him.
Mimi’s hair was pink, an unusual shade to be sure, but it was even in tone and her roots never showed thanks to a weekly trip to the beauty parlor. She, herself, liked the color of her hair, saying it set off her emerald green, contact-lens-enhanced, eyes. Mimi believed in doing everything she could to look young. Everything that didn’t involve exercise, dieting or surgery. She believed greatly in the powers of cosmetics and clothing with a high elastic content. Her approach to youth pleased her. She said that in the right light she could pass for forty.
To which a wise-guy in the deli had once replied, “Yeah, the right light. A firefly at five hundred yards.”
The wise-guy had been banned within a week after Robin, having seen that Mimi actually had been hurt by the crack, had provoked the joker into calling her a woman’s least favorite four-letter name ... the one that rhymes with punt.
Stan had said that if he’d heard the guy make either slur he would have shot him. Robin privately doubted that, but Mimi didn’t. Stan’s lunch was always on the house.
The other man who’d entered the office was the only man in Robin’s life. The only man she truly loved, her father, Dan Phinney.
“Hi, Daddy,” she said.
And for the first time all day Robin smiled.
Chapter 2
Robin knew it was ridiculous, but she couldn’t help it. Every time she saw her father she felt like a little girl again. She almost expected him to sweep her up into his arms and take her out for an ice cream cone. Robin also suspected that her father still saw her the way she was when she was a child. Happy and pretty and slim.
He had never spoken one critical word to her in his life. Even after her dark, shining hair had been chopped to a dull no-style style, her sparkling blue eyes had turned dark and cold, her long slender shape had been armored under eighty pounds of hard fat, her father’s love for her had remained constant, unquestioning and complete.
Robin felt she would die when her father did.
Which he recently almost had.
Which was why she couldn’t let him help her with her problem.
“I’m still pretty handy, you know,” Dan Phinney said as he drove his daughter home. “And I’m not an invalid.”
“You had a major heart attack, Daddy. Less than a year ago.”
“So does that mean I can’t do a little plumbing and wiring for my girl?”
Dan Phinney had been a building inspector for the City of Chicago. An honest one. He didn’t have to spend his retirement looking over his shoulder and worrying that some vengeful prosecutor might be about to indict him for past sins. In fact, he’d taken his job so seriously that he’d taught himself all of the building trades he’d once inspected. He both knew good work when he saw it and he could do it himself.
“Daddy, you know what the doctor said. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Dan turned to Robin and said, “Aren’t we all?”
Robin looked at her father. His question was more than rhetorical. Robin stifled a response with razor wire on it. She was a different person with her father.
She said, “Yes, Daddy, we are. But I’m still not going to let you crawl around my building, busting a gut and killing yourself.”
“I found that building for you, you know.”
“I know. I’ll always be grateful. And guilt won’t work, either.”
Dan Phinney laughed.
“Okay, okay, I give up. How about I just front you the money you need?”
“No.”
“Why not? I’m going to leave most of what I have to you anyway.”
“Daddy, I want you to live long enough to spend every penny you have.”
“You mind if we pick up your sister before I drop you off? She needs a ride today, too.”
Robin said that was fine, and then she smiled wickedly.
“What?” her father asked, seeing Robin’s expression.
“I was just thinking. You want to help me? Persuade Nancy to come over and muck out my garbage disposal.”
Robin and her father both laughed at the idea.
Robin’s sister, Nancy Cassidy, was everything Robin was not. She was petite, blonde, married and the mother of two grown boys. She was three years older than Robin but looked five years younger. Unlike Mimi, Nancy’s formula for staying young consisted of granola, tofu, eight glasses of water and vigorous exercise daily. Not that Nancy didn’t help her natural hair color along with a few bottled highlights. But most of her good looks came from a fortunate gene pool and the fact that Nancy was in control of her life.
She did a pretty good job of controlling her husband, Charlie, and their two sons, Johnny and Michael, too. Charlie had been Nancy’s high school sweetheart, and the starting fullback on the football team. Unlike a lot of former teenage jocks, Charlie hadn’t gone to fat. Nancy had seen to that. Robin also thought Nancy had somehow made sure that Charlie had kept all his hair, too, without a strand of it going gray. At any rate, they were still a handsome couple, and Robin was sure they still had frequent sex.
Yet another difference with Nancy.
Robin and her father picked up Nancy at the real estate office where she worked part time with Patty Phinney, Robin and Nancy’s mother, and Dan’s estranged wife. Patty sold condos, lots of them. Nancy managed the office. Nancy’s job was supposed to be a full-time position, but she never needed more than four hours a day to do it. The abbreviated schedule was made possible by the fact that nobody would dare cross Nancy or compromise any of the efficiency measures she’d put in place.
Nancy slid easily into Dan’s car, a new Chevy Camaro that he’d treated himself to when he’d found out he was going to live. She was so trim that she could glide through the narrow opening and perch comfortably on the minuscule backseat without Robin having to scoot forward.
Nancy kissed her father’s cheek and squeezed her sister’s shoulder by way of greeting.
“How are you today, Dad?” Nancy asked, buckling her seatbelt.
“Peachy,” he said, entering traffic. “Your mother ready for a divorce yet?”
Dan and Patty Phinney had been separated for nineteen years.
“Just as soon as the pope okays it,” Nancy replied.
“You know, I think I’ve been pretty patient with your mother. I’ve let this separation thing go on almost as long as the time we lived under one roof. I think maybe it’s time for a change.”
Robin and Nancy glanced at each other.
“How come, Dad?” Nancy asked.
“Well, you know, a good-looking guy like me, driving a fancy car like this, I’ve been getting a lot of looks from the ladies. Come hither looks.”
“Daddy,” Robin said, “you’re not going to give all your money to some little gold-digger instead of me.”
Robin was twitting her sister who already knew that Dan Phinney intended to leave the bulk of his estate to Robin, and professed indifference. That didn’t mean, however, that she was going to let Robin’s jibe pass unchallenged.
“Maybe you’re right, Dad. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t have a girlfriend, or even a new wife. I’ll talk to my pastor about what you and Mom would need for an annulment.”
Robin’s face fell. She honestly didn’t care about her father’s money, even though she could have used it at the moment. She’d always felt it was important to make her own way in life ... but the idea of sharing her father’s attention with another woman made her heart constrict.
“Yeah, Dad,” Nancy continued, twisting the knife, “you could get back into circulation, and maybe you could find someone for Robin and double date.”
Robin stared death rays at her sister. She wanted to lash back, but she couldn’t. Not in front of her father. Not with his heart condition.
So she said, “You know, Nancy, it’s been a long time since you’ve dropped by Mimi’s. Why don’t you stop in for lunch tomorrow? On me.”
Robin’s smile would have chilled a Sicilian hitman.
But it didn’t make Nancy blink.
“Thanks, but I couldn’t. All that fatty meat, all those empty calories. Not for me, thanks.”
Oooh, Robin wanted to — well, what she’d like to do was sit on Nancy. Squish her like a bug. Leave nothing but hands and feet and Summer Blonde hair sticking out. Dan Phinney interrupted this pleasant thought.
“Actually, I am thinking of finding someone for Robin,” he said.
“What?” both daughters asked at once, shocked.
“Relax, honey,” he said to Robin. “I mean, I’m trying to think of someone who owes me a few favors who could help you with your building.”
“Oh,” both girls said. When she heard what the problem was, Nancy added, “I’ll just have Charlie stop by.”
Nancy’s husband was the half owner of a heating-and-cooling business, and was almost as handy around a house as Dan Phinney. Plus, he had a healthy heart since Nancy made him eat as sensibly as she did. On top of that, Charlie was an honestly nice guy who wouldn’t mind extending himself for his sister-in-law.
It made perfect sense to let Charlie help her, except Robin didn’t want to accept any help from Nancy. Especially after the crack she’d made about Daddy finding a girlfriend.
“Charlie’s got enough to do already,” Robin said. “You push him too hard as it is, Nancy.” There, she’d got her dig in, and from the way Nancy’s eyes had narrowed Robin could tell she’d hit a tender spot. Better yet, Dad hadn’t noticed or pretended he hadn’t.
“Have it your way,” Nancy said blandly, having given Robin all the satisfaction she intended to.
Dan Phinney pulled the car over to the curb in front of Robin’s Near North house.
“If you don’t want Charlie to help,” he said, “I’ll keep thinking to see if there’s someone I know.”
“Daddy, I’ve already got a plumber coming,” Robin said, stepping out of the car.
“Plumbers cost money. If I think of someone, he’ll work for free.”
While Robin tried to think of an objection, Nancy slid into the front seat and pulled the door closed. Her father waved goodbye and Nancy smirked.
Robin was left standing there, not knowing what Nancy might say to her father now that she had him alone. Not liking what might be coming her way. Whatever it was.
Robin’s building was a two-flat with a basement on tree-lined Menominee Street, not far from her work, not far from Lincoln Park, not far from Lake Michigan, smack in the middle of the gentrified, yuppified Near North Side. It sat on a lot-and-a-half. Two months earlier, while she’d been weeding the flower beds out front, a guy had pulled up to the curb in a two-seat Mercedes convertible, given the place the once over, asked her if she was the owner and then offered her $750,000 on the spot for the building.
She’d told him to suck on his dual exhaust.
He’d chuckled good-naturedly, gave her a little wave to show there were no hard feelings and idled off, rubbernecking. She’d heard him call out to a neighbor down the block, and got up from her weeding in time to see the neighbor invite the Mercedes man into his building. Now, the neighbor was gone and so was his house. The yuppie had bought it and torn it down to make way for a new vertical urban palace he was having built. Robin looked at the construction site and thought a neighborhood didn’t have to go downhill to change for the worse.
Nineteen years earlier, she’d paid exactly one-tenth of what the Mercedes man had offered for her building. Even then the area had been highly regarded, but yuppies had yet to come into their own and run amok on the real estate market, and the building had been sold at a tax-delinquency auctio
n. The bidding hadn’t been terribly competitive because the previous owner had been as negligent in his maintenance as in his tax payments. Back then, Robin had let her father repair all of her home’s most egregious faults. In fact, she’d labored right along with him, as far as he’d let her, as far as willing hands and a strong back could compensate for a complete lack of mechanical skills.
What she couldn’t accomplish inside, she made up for outside. She’d had the dead tree out front cut down. Then she broke up and dug out the stump herself and planted a wonderful little dogwood that made her heart burst with joy when it blossomed each spring. She’d rented a roto-tiller, turned over the soil, planted seed and grown a lawn green enough to make the Irish sing. She’d put in perennial beds of black–eyed Susans, daisies, golden yarrow, delphiniums and coreopsis, all underplanted with early blooming bulbs. And as soon as she was sure the last frost had passed each April, she filled in the beds with a riot of colorful annuals.
After her father had brought the building’s life support systems back to working condition, she’d thanked him with all her heart and then absolutely refused to let him do a bit of the plain old scut work. By herself, Robin had chipped away old paint, peeled old wallpaper, pulled up old linoleum, scoured all the fixtures, scrubbed every square inch, and then repainted the place top-to-bottom.
Robin lived in the apartment on the second floor, and there was a small apartment space at the front of the basement, left over from the previous owner. On the first floor, Robin created her park.
The park was Robin’s retreat. Retreat from the world, from the past, from herself. She’d started by having every non-supporting wall on the first floor knocked out. The resulting space was loft-like. Robin painted it bright white and refinished the hardwood floors from front to back. In the middle third of the floorspace, to the left as you looked at the rear of the building, Robin had a kidney-shaped piece of moss green carpeting laid. In counterpoint to this, she positioned two large plastic ovals and filled them with tan gravel. Directly in front of the living room windows she had a bi-level pond installed. The lower level was an aquarium; the upper level was a wishing-well into which she dropped a coin daily, collecting and donating the proceeds to charity quarterly.
