A Room with a Pew

by Peg Cochran

  “I don’t think you can just march into the bank and ask them that, Lucille. They’ve got all kinds of privacy regulations these days. You can hardly get your own account number out of them.”

  “What are we going to do then?”

  Flo was silent for a moment. “You know, there’s this manager over at the branch in Berkeley Heights. He always flirts with me when I go in with Dr. Hacker’s deposit.” Flo’s sigh drifted over the telephone line. “He has terrible halitosis.”

  “The poor thing. So nice of the bank to hire the disabled.”

  “He isn’t disabled, Lucille. That means he has bad breath.”

  “Oh.”

  Flo always did think she knew everything, Lucille thought.

  “Anyway, he’s constantly asking me out to dinner. I have to take the deposit over after work, and he’s usually there on Tuesdays. If he asks me out again I’ll say yes and see if I can convince him to give me some information on this mystery account.”

  “Thanks, Flo.”

  “The things I do for you, Lucille.”

  “It’s not for me, Flo, it’s for cousin Louis. It’s for family.”

  • • •

  Lucille had gotten up early on account of she had to work at the church that day. She was helping Jeanette put together St. Rocco’s monthly bulletin.

  By the time she got home, she was pooped and her back hurt, but there was dinner to prepare and then the dishes to do.

  She wiped down the counters and then finally turned the light out in the kitchen. Frankie had the TV on downstairs, and she thought she’d join him. That reality show she liked was coming on. She couldn’t believe the things those people got up to. Frankie said it wasn’t real, but she knew it was—she’d read all about it in Star magazine.

  She was about to go down to the rec room when the front bell rang. The loud ding dong echoed through the house and was quickly followed by frantic knocking.

  Sheesh, they were going to wake the baby, Lucille thought as she hurried toward the front hall.

  “I’m coming. I’m coming.”

  Lucille was panting as she pulled open the door.

  Flo was standing on the mat. She looked half pissed off and half like she was going to cry.

  “What’s the matter?” Lucille asked as she pulled the door wider.

  Flo stumbled into the foyer. “And on top of everything,” she said, indicating her feet, “I think I’ve ruined my new suede booties.”

  “On top of what?” Lucille asked. “Come in and take off your coat. I’ll make us a nice cup of tea.”

  “Tea? What I need is a whiskey.”

  Flo followed Lucille out to the kitchen, where she flung herself into a chair.

  Lucille flipped on the lights, rummaged in the cupboard next to the stove and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. She poured a spoonful into a juice glass and handed it to Flo.

  Flo tilted the glass. “I’m not going to get drunk, Lucille. Give me a little more, would you?”

  Lucille frowned, but she got the bottle and poured another splash into Flo’s glass. She put the bottle on the table and sat down opposite Flo.

  “So now are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

  “It’s your fault, Lucille.”

  “Me?” Lucille pointed at her chest.

  “Yes. You’re the one who asked me to go out with George, the bank manager.”

  “Did something happen? Did he put the moves on you or something?” Lucille couldn’t imagine how this George could have done that given they were eating in a public restaurant.

  “Nothing like that.”

  “Then what?” Lucille’s voice was sharp with irritation.

  Flo buried her face in her hands. “George took me to Marco Polo.”

  “That’s a nice place.”

  Flo gave her a dirty look.

  “What? Was the food bad or something?”

  “Nothing like that. It was worse. Richie was there.”

  “Richie?”

  “Yeah. With some pals of his. They were sitting at the bar. And he saw me. With George.”

  Lucille was confused. “Isn’t that what you wanted? To make Richie jealous?”

  “Yes, but with Dr. Hacker! Not some nerd like George. He was wearing suspenders and a bow tie.”

  “And you’re sure Richie saw you?”

  “He looked devastated, Lucille.”

  Lucille was beginning to wonder if this thing between Flo and Richie was ever going to work out.

  “Can you call him and explain?”

  Flo stiffened. She picked up her glass and tossed back the remainder of the whiskey. “Absolutely not. After he cheated on me?”

  “But now you’ve cheated on him. And you don’t know that.”

  “I didn’t cheat on him, Lucille. I was reconnoitering.”

  “Rec-a-what?”

  “Spying. Investigating. It’s not like I wanted to go out with George.”

  “But Richie don’t know that. You have to tell him.” Lucille picked at the peeling label on the whiskey bottle. “Did you happen to find anything out?”

  “Yes.” Flo retrieved her purse from the floor, opened it and pulled out a piece of paper. “The deposit slip in Louis’s sock belongs to a place called the Napoleon Club.”

  • • •

  “Why would Louis be putting money in the account of that club?” Lucille asked as she climbed into bed next to Frankie. “It don’t make no sense.”

  Frankie grunted and punched his pillow a couple of times.

  “Unless the club owner was the guy giving Louis the money to gamble, and Louis was giving it back to him by putting it into that account.”

  “Unh.” Frank rolled on his other side.

  “Since Bernadette is doing the books for that place maybe she’ll know something about the deposits.” She poked Frankie. “What do you think?”

  “I think you should go to sleep, Lucille. And I think you should stay out of this whole thing.”

  “I will, Frankie, I will.”

  Right after she asked Bernadette to check the books for the ten-thousand-dollar deposit Louis made to the account of the Napoleon Club shortly before he died.

  • • •

  Lucille had a hard time sleeping and in the end overslept. Frank was already dressed and downstairs staring at the empty coffeepot when she walked into the kitchen. Lucille tightened the belt on her robe. It was old and worn, but putting it on always soothed her.

  “Move,” she said to Frankie. “Let me put on some coffee.”

  Frank glanced at the clock over the sink. “Don’t bother. I’ve got to get going.” He gave Lucille a peck on the cheek.

  She’d put on some coffee for herself, Lucille decided. She didn’t hear no noise in the house after Frank left—had Bernadette already gone? Lucille bit her lip. She’d been hoping to ask her about the account at the Napoleon Club. It looked like she’d have to drive over there now.

  Lucille took her time getting ready. If she was going to apply for a job at the club she had to look her best. She chose a pair of dark slacks that had an elastic waist, which was a good thing—even though she’d been on this diet for a couple of days now, that huge meal they’d had at Thanksgiving had put her behind the eight ball, so to speak.

  She ran a lint roller over the pants—some fuzzy stuff had gotten on them the last time she wore them. Lucille opened her dresser drawer. She didn’t have much in the way of a wardrobe. It didn’t matter what she wore to her job at the church, and she and Frankie rarely went to any place fancier than Rocky’s Pizza or that bar and grill out in Berkeley Heights.

  She found a white sweater that wasn’t too pilled and put it on. Despite the elastic the pants were a little snug, but Lucille was able to pull the sweater down over the roll that had formed at her waist. The kids called it a muffin top—hers was in danger of becoming an entire pound cake. Good thing she was sticking to her diet or she’d have to buy all new clothes.

  If the N
apoleon Club needed a waitress, Lucille was pretty sure she’d be given a uniform, so she wouldn’t have to worry about no fancy outfits. Some of them country clubs had pretty classy uniforms too—she’d be proud to wear one of them.

  The Olds needed a little babying to get started. Lucille knew Frankie really wanted her to have a new car. Maybe if she got this job she’d think about it. The very idea brought a tear to her eye, and she brushed it away. Frankie was right—she couldn’t afford to get stuck somewhere because the Olds was acting up. And if she got this job, she’d have to keep to a strict schedule—not like at St. Rocco’s, where Father Brennan always understood if she was running a little behind.

  The address for the Napoleon Club was out on Route 10. It was kind of a funny place for a country club, given that it was a busy highway, but maybe it was a little farther out than the strip malls and fast-food joints.

  Lucille drove down the road, squinting at the numbers on the buildings. The guy behind her blew his horn at her.

  “Whaddya want, buster? I’m looking for this here street number, okay? How am I supposed to see if I’m doing seventy-five miles an hour?” She shot him the bird over her shoulder.

  Lucille glanced at the piece of paper she had placed on the passenger seat with the directions from Bernadette. The club was supposed to be right past the shopping mall where Party City was. Lucille slowed as she saw the brightly colored sign up ahead.

  Right past the mall was a rotating sign with The Napoleon Club on it in fancy letters and one of them symbols that was called something French—flower de lis, Lucille thought it was.

  Lucille pulled into the parking lot. This here sure didn’t look like no country club. But then maybe the golf course, swimming pool and clubhouse were hidden like—to give the members privacy. Boy, this must really be some exclusive place.

  Lucille pulled the Olds into an empty spot and got out. She brushed some lint off her car coat and patted her hair. The wind wasn’t doing her hairdo no good. Fortunately Rita knew how to do a set—one that lasted. And Lucille was real careful to wrap tissue around her head at night to keep the curls in place.

  The front of the Napoleon Club was shingled in rough, rust-colored wood. There was no window that Lucille could see. Obviously that was to give the members their privacy. Lucille knew rich people were real big on privacy. She couldn’t wait to see the other areas of the club—the parts hidden from view where all the fancy people hung out.

  She pushed open the front door and stepped inside. The interior was dim and the air was foggy with cigarette smoke. Lucille coughed and flapped a hand in front of her face. Privacy was good and all, but the place could really use a window to let some of that smoke out and some fresh air in.

  She didn’t see no one around so she called out, “Yoo-hoo. Anybody here? Yoo-hoo.”

  A man came around the corner. He was wearing dark jeans and a black T-shirt, his biceps straining the short sleeves. He had a buzz cut and a scar that ran from the corner of his right eye down to his mouth. He stared at Lucille.

  “We’re closed. We don’t open until five o’clock.”

  Lucille fiddled with the strap of her purse. The guy was making her nervous the way he was looking at her. You’d think a club like this would hire someone with better manners.

  “I came about the job? My daughter Bernadette—she works in the office doing the bookkeeping—said you was looking for help. She didn’t know exactly what kind of job it was, but I don’t mind—waitressing, office work, whatever. I’m open.”

  “The job?” The guy scratched his head. “You serious?”

  Of course she was serious, Lucille thought. She nodded.

  “Okay, then.” He started to walk away. “Follow me,” he called over his shoulder.

  Lucille followed behind him. She wondered where they were going. Maybe some plush office where they would interview her? Her palms became a little clammy, and she wiped them on her slacks.

  He led her past a long wooden bar with blood-red velvet bar stools. Small cocktail tables were clustered in the corner. From there they went into a larger room, where a raised platform was surrounded by larger round tables. There was a pole in the middle of the platform and a girl in a thong was straddling it. She was topless.

  Lucille gasped and the fellow looked at her with his eyebrows raised. “What kind of a job did you think this was?”

  Lucille wanted to turn and run, but the thought of Frankie worried sick about the business held her rooted to the spot. She had to give this a try. She needed to take some pressure off Frankie or she was afraid those pains of his would get worse.

  The girl who had been hugging the pole jumped down from the platform. She grabbed a towel that had been hanging on one of the chairs and wiped off before draping it around her neck.

  “She’s all yours.” The fellow in the black T-shirt gestured toward the pole.

  Lucille could barely swallow. She’d caught a glimpse of what that girl had been doing. How hard could it be? She would put her foot down about one thing though—she wasn’t wearing no thong and she wasn’t going topless.

  Lucille approached the pole and put her arm around it. She did a few bump and grinds the way she’d seen that girl do. She wished Frankie could see her. He’d be impressed.

  She did a little twirl around the pole. The guy in the T-shirt went over to a switch on the wall and loud music suddenly poured out of hidden speakers. It was so loud it felt as if it was thudding inside Lucille’s chest, but she had to admit it was nice having a beat to dance to.

  She did another little twirl. This was kind of fun. She twirled again, only this time she lifted her feet off the ground the way she’d seen the girl do. It was a mistake. Her hands were slippery and she slid down the pole, landing at the bottom in a heap.

  She pulled down her sweater as she struggled to get to her feet.

  She was about to try again when the guy began yelling at her.

  “Get out of here. You’re no good. Leo said you were good. He said you was hot.”

  “Leo?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t Leo send you?”

  Lucille shook her head. “I thought maybe you needed a waitress or someone to do office work like.”

  The guy shook his head in disgust. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

  Chapter 12

  Lucille scrambled to grab her jacket, which she’d thrown over one of the chairs. Her face burned as she raced toward the front door. This here place wasn’t no country club—it was nothing more than a strip joint with some fancy dancing going on.

  She hurried out to the Olds. The cold breeze felt good on her face. She turned and looked back at the building. She’d wanted to ask Bernadette about that deposit, but she couldn’t go back in there. Not even for cousin Louis. She’d have to wait till later when Bernadette came home.

  Lucille inserted the key in the ignition of the Olds and made the sign of the cross. It looked like she wasn’t going to get no new job so she’d have to nurse the Olds along a little longer. Not that she wanted to part with her baby, but even she had to admit that the old girl was not as reliable as she used to be.

  Lucille peeled out of the parking lot on two wheels. She was glad she hadn’t mentioned the interview to Frankie. She didn’t know what on earth she would tell him. He’d be furious. He wasn’t going to like the idea that Bernadette was working there either, even if it was in the office. But Bernadette was grown up and married now so it was her business where she worked.

  Lucille looked at the clock on the dashboard. At least it worked, although it was always fifteen minutes fast. It was time to head to the Clip and Curl for her weekly appointment, although her set had held up real good this time.

  Lucille was still a little shaky when she pulled into the parking lot behind the Clip and Curl. She would be glad to get inside and sit down. She pushed open the door and a rush of warm, chemical-scented air hit her in the face.

  Carmela wa
s pulling hot towels from the dryer as Lucille walked in.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Fine, fine.” Lucille waved and continued toward the front of the shop.

  Lucille took a seat in the waiting area and picked up a copy of Star magazine, but before she could open it, Rita was beckoning her back to the washtubs.

  “You’re looking good, Lucille. Have you lost weight?”

  Lucille’s spirits lifted. “Yeah, a bit. I’m doing this here Mediterranean diet. I’ve got to tell you, it’s real easy.”

  “I’m going to have to try that diet.” Rita patted her stomach. “I could stand to lose a few.” She tied a plastic apron around Lucille’s neck. “Looks like your set held up well,” she said as she grabbed a bottle of shampoo and turned on the water.

  Usually the warm water relaxed Lucille, but not today. She kept going over and over the scene at the Napoleon Club. When Flo suddenly walked up to Rita’s station as Lucille was waiting for Rita to mix her hair color, she blurted out the whole thing in one endless stream. She didn’t notice that Flo’s updo was coming down on one side or that her hands were shaking.

  “What did you expect, Lucille? It is called the Na-pole-on Club, after all.”

  “I don’t like the idea of Bernadette working there.”

  “She works in the office. She’s probably long gone before the losers begin showing up after work.”

  Lucille squinted up at Flo. “What’s the matter? You look all shook up.”

  “Oh, Lucille,” Flo sobbed, “I am all shook up. It’s Richie.”

  “Has something happened to him?” Lucille had visions of gunfights and Richie being shot in the back. Or a car chase and his police cruiser going over a cliff.

  Flo sagged into the empty chair next to Lucille. She looked as if all the air had suddenly been let out of her. “He’s been arrested.”

  “That’s impossible, Flo. He’s on the police force. Cops don’t arrest each other.”