by Pamela Morsi
She wasn’t sure exactly what made her so angry. Of course, there was the crappy unfinished property deal with her father. And there was his unfounded accusation that she was trespassing. But Andi suspected it was more than just that. It was a lot of leftover resentment from high school.
Whenever she thought about those long-ago days, and she didn’t think about them often, she saw herself as completely different from the geeky math girl she had been back then.
Andi had proved herself to herself. She knew she could be successful out in the big world. What people thought back in the little world of Plainview meant nothing to her, or almost nothing.
But Pete Guthrie had snuck up on her. He’d caught her looking unattractive and feeling unsuccessful. And suddenly all those long-ago insecurities had reared their ugly heads. Pete had brought it all back. It felt as if the happy, attractive in-crowd out in front of school, enjoying each others company, laughing at those who weren’t in their circle, were only a glance away.
And Pete Guthrie, Pete Guthrie was the worst of them!
That thought caught Andi up short. Pete had not been the worst of them. He’d simply been one of them. He’d been the one she’d liked. Pete had been her high school crush.
Acknowledging that fact, even after all these years, caused Andi considerable embarrassment. She’d spent three long years dreaming about him, sighing over him, watching him walk down the hallways, wishing he would speak to her. Which, of course, he never really did.
But he was speaking to her now. And her response was defensive, angry, full of everything it shouldn’t be.
Mentioning the Mallomars had been a real mistake. What had brought that word to her lips? It had been a flaying shot intended to wound. She’d needed to insult him, but managed instead to suggest that she’d been paying attention to him. Having a good memory could be humiliating.
She had completely overreacted to his appearance. She knew it the minute he turned to walk away and admonished herself for that. Getting all miffed at him was stupid. If she really wanted to run a business on that corner, it would not be a good idea to start trouble with her next-door neighbor. The past was in the past. And if she was going to put her future on this corner, she’d need to get along with Guthrie Foods.
She’d do better next time. Next time when he would undoubtedly show up to apologize for mistaking her for a thief, she’d be magnanimous. That would be good. Magnanimous was always good.
It was nearly suppertime when she arrived home. She was dirty, tired and hungry. But she was excited, too. For the first time since she’d returned to Plainview, she felt as if she’d made the right decision. Not just the right decision for her sister and her father. Today, finally, she felt as if she’d made the right decision for herself.
In the driveway she noticed that her father’s truck was gone. She felt a pang of disappointment. She wanted to talk to him about her day, about her plans. Inside, she found her sister, Jelly, in the basement meticulously folding up her laundry.
“Where’s Pop?” she asked.
“He had an appointment.”
“Another appointment?” Andi frowned to herself. Her father was almost never sick and visited the dentist maybe a couple of times a year. What kind of appointments could he be having?
She shrugged off the question.
“I went to City Hall today, Jelly,” she told her sister. “I talked to a man there about starting up a business in Pop’s old car wash.”
“Who was the man at City Hall?” Jelly asked eagerly. “Was it Jack McCoy?”
Andi was momentarily confused, then remembered that Jack McCoy was a character from Jelly’s favorite Law & Order.
“No,” she answered with a sigh and a bittersweet smile for her sister. “It was somebody else.”
Andi headed back upstairs to put together something for the family dinner. After the chicken-and-asparagus casserole fiasco, she’d decided maybe the light supper concept was not all that bad. Besides, she was going to be way too busy on her start-up business to invest the time needed to become a decent home cook.
Tonight she wanted to get to work on her drive-through coffee proposal. She didn’t have enough background to get her mind completely around the possibilities, but she had no doubt she could get up to speed and wow the locals in time for the council meeting on Monday. She was eager for the challenge.
The last load was spinning noisily in the dryer as Jelly pulled out the white, satiny album of wedding photos. It was very important to keep it clean, Mom always said that. So Jelly took great pains to do so. She didn’t look at it often, but Wednesday wash day was a good time. Nothing could be cleaner than laundry time.
As she opened it she could almost hear her mother’s voice admonishing her to “be careful.” Jelly glanced through the dozens of photos of the bride and groom’s big day. The huge white dress with its cathedral train dominated each picture. And the pearl encrusted veil shimmered around her mother’s face as if she were an angel. Jelly turned to the photo that she liked the best. The two stood in front of a three layer wedding cake, quiet, serious, not even glancing at the other, each of them with a hand on a silver knife slicing cleanly through the thin sweetness of buttercream frosting.
“Foreman, has the jury reached a verdict?’’ Jelly asked herself.
4
SATURDAY MORNING, PETE woke up early and, rather than linger over coffee, decided he should try to get in a run. First, of course, he had to dig out some running gear and a decent pair of shoes. He found what he needed in an upstairs guest room still in a packing box. He rarely ventured upstairs except for sleeping. Everything he needed was on the first floor. But then, a single guy who spent all of his waking hours working didn’t have many needs. Especially when it came to a house.
He’d bought this one, in the tony neighborhood where his parents lived, for his ex-wife. He had known that Minx liked wealthy people, wealthy parties and prominent social position. Plainview wasn’t her hometown, but Pete had been sure that in Plainview, as his wife, she had a very good chance of being the most important hostess in the entire community. Pete had wanted very much to give her that.
He’d never really gotten a chance. She’d been with him when they bought the house, she’d ordered the kitchen upgrades and the window coverings. But she’d never actually got around to moving in. She’d hesitated to leave her friends in the city. Pete hadn’t realized, until it was way too late, that it had been a particular friend who kept her there. And that the person she ended up leaving was him.
He was very lucky. His father told him that all the time. Pete was lucky she’d insisted on a quick, no-muss, no-fuss divorce. Lucky that she was keener on snaring her new fish than cleaning the one she’d already caught.
His dad was right about that, of course. But Pete measured his good luck another way. He imagined, in horror, being trapped for decades in a marriage where the two principals could neither like nor respect each other. Or, to put a finer point on it, he didn’t want the marriage that his parents had. He didn’t relay that bit of insight to his dad.
In shorts, T-shirt and running shoes, Pete went out on his front porch bouncing and stretching. His next-door neighbor, Mrs. Joffee, was in her driveway dressed for synagogue and headed to her shiny blue Mercedes.
“Good morning!” he called out to her.
She smiled. “Hi, Pete.”
He liked Mrs. Joffee a lot. And not just because she was one of the few of his mother’s friends who hadn’t had occasion to sleep with his father. She was funny and smart and still very attractive for a woman his mom’s age. She’d married an older man and she’d been a widow for a decade or more. She was one of the wealthiest ladies in town, but there was no pretense about her at all. She was a homebody who liked puttering in her yard and listening to classical music. She was a quiet neighbor. No visitors except her two sons.
Pete took the porch steps two at a time.
“How’s business?”
Mrs. Joffee
shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Dave or Seth,” she answered. “I try to stay out of it.”
Maybe that’s what he really liked about her, Pete thought. She’d run the downtown department store for several years, but once she’d turned it over to the next generation, she’d stayed out of the way.
“Looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed.
With that he waved goodbye and was off running. The headphones in his ears played top forty tunes from his college days, keeping his pace strong and steady. He didn’t have a regular route. Mainly, he just tried to stay off the streets with the most traffic as he made his way toward the soccer fields. The parks department had installed a low-impact jogging track around the perimeter. It was a popular place for runners from all over town. Unfortunately for Pete, it was two miles from his house. By the time he got to the field, he was breathing so hard he had to stop. Bent forward with his hands on his knees, he tried to catch his breath.
Wolkowicz might be right, he thought. The Mallomars sure weren’t burning off like they used to.
Tomorrow morning he’d run the track, he decided. As soon as he was fit to move, he began walking back toward home, trying to keep a pace that was at least more than a lazy stroll. Instead of turning down his own street, he decided to stop by his parents’ house. His mom had jetted off last night on her latest trip. He rarely visited the house when his dad was there alone. But remembering Wolkowicz, he found himself thinking about what she’d told him about the car wash property. He wanted to find out how the deal had fallen apart.
The home Pete had grown up in was a two-story brick Colonial set atop a sloped lot, the rise adding to its imposing curb appeal. The impression created was “somebody important lives here” and none of his mother’s lovingly cultivated shrubs and flower beds could disguise the coldness, the exclusiveness, of that message.
He avoided the front door and went around to the tall, wrought-iron gate at the side. He keyed in the entry code and when the lock snapped open he let himself into the backyard. Here, too, his mother had pruned and planted and created little foliage grottos all over the yard. The gray stone swimming pool seemed almost, but not quite, natural in the setting. There was another keypad on the patio’s French doors. Pete pressed in the correct numbers and walked in. The house was completely quiet.
He wondered momentarily if his father had spent the night elsewhere. But he saw the car keys lying on the counter next to the garage door. With a shrug he walked over to the coffeepot and began setting up a brew.
A few minutes later, as the smell began to waft its way through the house, Pete heard stirring overhead in the master bedroom. He’d already poured himself a cup and was seated in the breakfast nook overlooking the pool when his dad, disheveled and wearing only knit briefs, wandered into the kitchen.
He gave his son a critical glance. “Making yourself at home?” he asked sarcastically.
Pete smiled humorously. “Just making the morning coffee for my dear old dad,” he answered.
“You ought not to wander in here,” Hank said. “I might have had a woman with me.”
Pete shook his head, disbelieving. “In my mother’s house? In her own bed? She’d never forgive you for that,” he pointed out. “And I’d be thrilled to testify when it came to court.”
“You probably would, you S.O.B.,” Hank muttered to himself as he poured a cup of coffee.
“Chip off the old block,” Pete added.
His father grunted.
Hank seated himself across the table. Pete gave him time to settle in and absorb some caffeine. He was in no hurry. He eyed his father critically. Hank normally looked tan and vital, almost youthful. This morning he looked gray and old. Though he still prided himself on being fit and toned, the skin on his chest sagged and the ribs were more visible than the muscles. Just after he retired, Hank had gotten “his eyes done.” The plastic surgery no longer pulled up the inside of his brows, the outside, however lifted sharply giving him a slightly demonic appearance, as if he was always a little bit angry. Then last year, he announced he’d decided to correct the problem by getting a complete facelift. Neither Pete nor his mother had tried to talk him out of it. When Hank decided something, no one could ever dissuade him. For some reason, however, he hadn’t gone through with it.
Pete thought it had probably been looking in the mirror on a morning like this that had given him the idea in the first place.
After a few moments the older man looked up at him. “So, is this a workday or are you just planning to live off your inheritance?”
“I’m going in at one,” Pete answered. “I’m going to work until closing.”
Hank gave a huff of disbelief and shook his head. “You’re working the evening shift on a Saturday night,” he said incredulously. “I guess you’re never going to get laid.”
“Guess not,” Pete answered. “It’s just that I find the idea of father-son sharing really creepy and you’ve already done most of the women in town.”
Hank chuckled. “Only the good-looking ones, son,” he said and then added, “You could always do Doris. I’ve never been that desperate.”
Pete refused to laugh at Miss Kepper’s expense. Instead he took another sip of coffee and said nothing.
“You’ve been out running?” Hank asked.
Pete nodded. “Yeah, I thought it might be about time to get back into it.”
Hank shook his head. “If you played golf, you’d get plenty of exercise and do business at the same time.”
“It’s a myth that the greens are full of big-business deals,” Pete countered. “Just a bunch of polo-shirted guys sneaking away from the office to try to improve their game.”
“And the track is full of sweaty people humming to themselves,” Hank said. “A pure waste of time.”
Pete shook his head. “I get a lot of work done,” he said. “All the planning and vision that are needed to grow a business, are things I don’t have time to do in the store. I don’t have a minute during the workday to get inside my own head. Running is perfect for that.”
Hank gave a huff of pure disapproval. “It’s crazy the way you look just like me on the outside. But inside you’re completely your mother’s child.”
“Thanks,” Pete said, though he knew the words weren’t meant as a compliment.
“So what are you doing here,” his father asked. “Lonely? Or have you got something to say?”
“I’ve got something to ask,” Pete answered. “And it’s business, if you think your head is clear enough to discuss it.”
Hank nodded.
“Wolkowicz’s daughter was in the car wash building yesterday,” Pete said. “I thought we’d bought that building from her old man years ago.”
His father raised an eyebrow. “His daughter? I thought she’s like retarded or something.”
“That’s the other daughter,” Pete said. “This one was an honor student and she said you never went through with the sale.”
Hank shrugged. “She’s right about that.”
“Why not?”
Hank grinned. “Turn that question around completely,” he said. “What you should be asking is, when it comes to that corner, why would I buy it?”
“Because it abuts Guthrie Foods property,” Pete answered. “Guthrie Foods has a need to control what it looks like, whether it’s kept up and what kind of business goes in there.”
The smile on Hank’s face was one of satisfaction. “We already do,” he said, smugly.
Pete looked at him confused. “I don’t get it,” he said.
“Do you remember when those damn bitches that call themselves the Conservation Committee were all up in arms about saving downtown buildings?”
Pete nodded. “Yeah, I remember something about it,” he answered. Pete had been a teenager at the time, deeply involved in his own life of friends and sports. Mostly what he recalled was his father’s ranting and raving.
“Well, I managed to keep us out of that mess,” Hank said. “And it wasn’t easy. They wanted to control the whole block. Our building was only fifteen years old and I managed, with some careful arm-twisting, to convince the council not to include our whole block, just the structures in the block older than fifty years.”
“That makes some sense.”
“It sure did to me,” he said. “The only building on the block affected was Wolkowicz’s. And that damn fool didn’t even fight it. He said he wanted his building saved for future generations.” Hank shook his head as he chuckled. “What an idiot. He was always like that. Even when we were kids he was all Mr. Responsible, the darling of the teachers, always doing the right thing. I was always the most popular guy in our class. But Wolkowicz was everyone’s friend. What does that get you in the real world? Nothing you can take to the bank. In the world of business, it’s the law of the jungle. The weak deserve what happens to them.”
Pete gulped down the dregs of his coffee and got up to pour himself another cup. He’d heard his father’s “law of the jungle” analogy too many times to count. And he was pretty sure that none of those dangerous jungle predators had had Miss Kepper to cover for them when they screwed up. But Pete decided it was the better part of valor not to mention that to Hank.
On the way back to the table he opened the refrigerator and pulled out a package of Mallomars.
Pete ripped open the bag and each man took a cookie. As Pete took a casual bite, he critiqued his father’s assessment. “I don’t know Wolkowicz very well, but honestly, he never struck me as weak.”
