09 To the Nines (21 page)

“The sex would work.”

I smiled at him and took the empty popcorn bowl back to the kitchen. “Nice try.”

I toasted a bagel, smeared it with too much butter, and ate it with the butter dripping down my arm. Do I know how to eat a bagel, or what? I went back upstairs, took a shower, and got dressed for dinner.

I was halfway through makeup when Morelli appeared in the bathroom doorway. He leaned a shoulder against the jamb, hands in pants pockets. “We're late,” he said. “How's it going?”

It wasn't going good. Dinner with Joe's family had me in a state. I'd accidentally poked myself in the eye with the mascara wand and almost gone blind. “It's going great,” I said. “Give me another minute.”

“You have a big black blob on your eye.”

“I know that. Go away!”

Ten minutes later I clattered down the stairs in my high-heeled strappy sandals, the swirly skirt, and a stretchy top. It was the best I could do under the circumstances. I didn't have a lot of clothes at Joe's house.

“Nice,” Joe said, eyes on the skirt. “I'm going to have fun this outfit when we get home. You have panties on, right?”

“Right.”

“I don't suppose you'd want to take them off.”

“I don't suppose.”

“Doesn't hurt to ask,” Morelli said with a grin. “It would make dinner more interesting.”

Everyone was at the table when we arrived. Joe's mom was at the head. Grandma Bella was next to her, then Mary Elizabeth. Joe's sister, Cathy, was next to Mary Elizabeth. Joe's Uncle Mario was at the foot of the table. Cathy's husband was seated across from her. Joe and I were seated across from Mary Elizabeth and Bella.

“Sorry we're late,” Joe said. “Cop business.” Mary Elizabeth was looking very happy. She had an empty highball glass in front of her and a half-empty wineglass. “More like monkey business,” she said.

Bella shook her finger at Joe. “All the Morelli men are sex fiends.”

“Hey,” Uncle Mario said, “how's that to talk?” Mario was Bella's first cousin and the only male Morelli left from Bella's generation. Morelli men weren't especially long-lived. Mario was small and wrinkled, but still had a full head of wiry black hair. It was rumored he colored it with shoe polish.

Grandma Bella fixed an eye on Mario. “Are you telling me you're not a sex fiend?”

“There's a difference between an Italian stallion and a sex fiend. I'm an Italian stallion.”

Joe filled our wineglasses. “Salute,” he said.

Everyone held their glasses high. “Salute.”

“I didn't see you in church today,” Grandma Bella said to Joe.

“I had to miss today,” Joe said.

And last week. And the week before that. And come to think of it, last time Joe was in church was Christmas.

“I prayed for you,” Bella told him.

Joe took a sip of wine and looked at Bella over the rim of his glass. “Thanks.”

“And I prayed that the bambinos would get over the death of their mother.”

Joe's mother gripped her wineglass and narrowed her eyes at Bella. I stopped breathing. Everyone else slumped in their seat with an oh boy, here it comes sigh.

“The bambinos?” Joe asked.

“You will have many bambinos. The mother will die. It will be very sad. I saw it in a vision.”

I bit down hard on my lower lip. My poor little bambinos!

“Don't worry,” Bella said to me. “It's not you. The woman in the vision was blond.”

Joe drank more wine and draped an arm around my shoulders. “At least you're not the dead woman in this vision.”

Mrs. Morelli threw a dinner roll at him and hit him in the head. “That's a stupid thing to say to a woman. Sometimes you're just like your father.” She crossed herself and looked penitent. “God rest his soul.”

Everyone at the table crossed themselves except Joe. “God rest his soul,” everyone said.

“And you” Mrs. Morelli said to her mother-in-law. “No more with the visions.”

“I can't help I have visions,” Grandma Bella said. “I'm an instrument of God.”

This brought on a lot more crossing and Uncle Mario muttered something that I think included the words devil woman.

Bella turned on Mario. “You watch your step, old man. I'll put the eye on you.”

The table went silent. No one wanted to mess with the eye. The eye was Italian voodoo.

While all this was going on, Mary Elizabeth had put away three glasses of wine. “I love a party,” Mary Elizabeth said, her words slightly slurred, her eyes slightly crossed. She raised her wineglass. “Here's to me!”

We all raised our wineglasses. “To Mary Elizabeth!”

When we were all stuffed with chicken in red sauce and meatballs and macaroni casseroles, Mrs. Morelli brought out the desserts. Plates of Italian cookies from People's bakery, fresh-filled cannoli from Panorama Musicale, cheeses from Porfirio's, and the birthday cake from Little Italy.

By now it was sweltering in the Morelli dining room. All the windows were open and Mrs. Morelli had brought a fan in to circulate air. Sweat was running down my breastbone, soaking my shirt. My hair was stuck to my face and my mascara was not living up to its waterproof promise. No one cared about the heat. Everyone but Joe and his mom was shit-faced, me included.

Candles were lit on the cake, raising the room temperature by another ten degrees. We all sang “Happy Birthday,” Mary Elizabeth blew out the candles, and Mrs. Morelli made the first cut in the cake.

Grandma Bella slammed her hands palms down on the table and tossed her head back. She was having a vision.

Everyone at the table groaned.

“I see death,” Grandma Bella said. “A woman.”

More groaning from around the table.

“I see white carnations.”

“Don't worry about it, honey,” Morelli whispered in my ear. “There are always white carnations.”

“This woman who died,” I asked Grandma Bella. “Is she a blonde?”

Grandma Bella opened her eyes and looked at me. “She has curly brown hair,” Bella said. “Shoulder length.”

My hair. Good thing I was too drunk to care.

“That's the vision,” Bella said. “I'm tired now. I need to lay down.”

Bella always got tired after a vision.

We watched her leave the table and go upstairs.

“Good riddance,” Mary Elizabeth said. “She's such a downer.”

And we all made the sign of the cross and had dessert.

Morelli poured me into his truck and drove me back to his house where he dragged me out of the truck and propped me against the passenger side door. “If you're going to throw up, it'd be good if you could do it out here,” he said. “It's supposed to rain. It'll wash away.”

I thought about that for a moment and decided I wasn't going to throw up. I took a step and went down to one knee. “Oops,” I said. “The curb's in my way.”

Morelli hauled me up, slung me over his shoulder, and carried me into the house and up the stairs. I flopped onto Morelli's bed and put one foot on the floor to stop the whirlies. “Wanna have sex?” I asked.

Morelli grinned. "I think I'll take a rain check on that one.

I'm still worried you're going to be sick. Do you want me to help you get undressed?"

“No. But it'd be good if you could make the room stand still.”

I was awake but I was afraid to open my eyes. I suspected hell was lurking just beyond my eyelids. My brain didn't fit in my head and the little devil guys were poking hot sticks in my eyeballs.

I cracked an eye and squinted up at Morelli. “Help,” I whispered.

Morelli had a coffee cup in his hand. “You really tied one on last night.”

“Did I make an idiot of myself?”

“Honey, you were at a dinner party with my family. On your best day you couldn't even compete in the idiot contest.”

“Your mother isn't an idiot.”

“My mother likes you.”

“Really?” I eased myself into a sitting position, put both hands to my head, and applied pressure in an attempt to prevent my brain from exploding. “I'm never doing this again. Never. I'm done drinking. Okay, maybe a beer once in a while, but that's it!”

“I went out and got the cure,” Morelli said. “I have to leave for work, but I want to make sure you're okay first.”

I opened my other eye. I sniffed the air. “The cure? Really?”

“Downstairs,” Morelli said. “I left them in the kitchen. Do you want me to bring them up?”

Not necessary. I was on my feet. I was moving. Slowly. I was at the stairs. One step at a time. I was going to make it. I put my hands over my eyes to keep my eyeballs from falling out of my head while I worked the stairs. Then I was on firm floor. I inched forward. I was in the kitchen. I squinted into the red haze and I saw it. It was sitting on the little wooden kitchen table. A large bag of McDonalds French fries and a large Coke.

I carefully eased myself onto a kitchen chair and took my first fry. “Ahhhh,” I said.

Morelli was slouched in the chair opposite me, finishing his coffee. “Feeling better?”

I sipped some Coke and I ate more fries. “Much better.”

“Are you ready for ketchup?”

“Definitely.”

Morelli got the ketchup out of the fridge and dumped some on a plate for me. I mushed some fries in the ketchup and tested them out.

“I think the brain swelling is going down,” I said to Morelli. “The pounding has stopped.”

“Always a good sign,” Morelli said. He rinsed his cup and set it in the dish drain. “I'm out of here. I have to get the computer to the lab.” He kissed me on the top of my head. “Be careful. Tank's outside, doing his thing. Try not to lose him.”

“I owe you,” I said.

“Yeah, I know. I already have plans.”

And he was gone.

Bob was patiently sitting beside me, waiting for his share. I fed him a couple fries, finished up the rest, and drank the Coke. I gave a big burp and felt pretty decent.

I took a shower and got dressed in a short denim skirt white sneakers, and a white T-shirt. I pulled my hair into a ponytail, applied some lipstick and a single swipe of mascara and I was ready for the day.

I put a call in to Lula and got her at a truck stop.

“I'm fine,” she said. “Me and Boo are having breakfast. We're making real good time. We're traveling straight along Route Forty all the way. This here's real interesting. I never drove through anything like this before. This is cowboys and Indians country.”

I hung up, dropped a raisin and a small chunk of cheese into Rex's cage, gave Bob a hug, and told everybody I'd be back. I locked up after myself and waved to Tank. Tank gave me a nod back.

I drove the short distance to my parents' house and parked in the driveway. My grandmother was at the door, waiting for me, responding to some mysterious instinct embedded in Burg women ... an early warning signal that a daughter or granddaughter was approaching.

“That big guy is following you again,” Grandma said, opening the door to me.

“Tank.”

“Yeah. I wouldn't mind spending some time with him. You think he could go for an older woman?”

Young women, old women, barnyard animals. “Hard to say with Tank.”

“Your mothers at the store and the girls are off playing somewhere,” Grandma said. “Valerie's in the kitchen eating us out of house and home.”

“How's she doing?”

“Looks like she's going to explode.”

I went in and took a chair across from Valerie. She was picking at a bowl of macaroni and chicken salad, not showing much enthusiasm for it.

'“What's up?” I asked.

“I dunno. I'm not hungry. I think I'm in a slump. My life is same old, same old.”

“You're having a baby. That's pretty exciting.”

Valerie looked down at her stomach. “Yeah.” She gently rubbed the baby bulge. “I'm excited about that. It's just that everything else is so unsettled. I'm living here with Mom and Dad and Gram. After the baby there'll be four of us in that one small bedroom. I feel like I'm swallowed up and there's no more Valerie. I was always perfect. I was the epitome of well-being and mental health. Remember how I was serene? Saint Valerie? And I adapted when I moved to California. I went from serene to perky. I was cute,” Valerie said. “I was really cute. I made birthday cakes and pork tenderloins. I bought my jerk-off husband a grill. I had my teeth bleached.”

“Your teeth look great, Val.”

“I'm confused.”

“About Albert?”

Valerie rested her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. “Do you think he's boring?”

“He's too funny to be boring. He's like a puppy Sort of floppy and goofy and wanting to be liked.” He could be a little annoying, but that's different from boring, right?

“I feel like I need a hero. I feel like I need to be rescued.”

“That's because you weigh four hundred pounds and you can't get out of a chair by yourself. After you have the baby you'll feel different.” Okay, so I was being a big fat hypocrite again. I felt the same way as Val. I wanted to be rescued, too. I was tired of being brave and semi-competent. Difference was, I refused to say it aloud. I suspected it was a basic instinct, but it felt wrong somehow. For starters, it felt like a terrible burden to dump on a man.

“Do you think Albert is at all heroic?” Valerie asked me.

“He doesn't look like a hero, but he gave you a job when you needed one and he's stood by you. I guess that's sort of heroic. And I think he'd run into a burning building to save you.” Whether he'd get her out of the building is another issue. Probably they'd both die a horrible death. “I think you're doing the right thing by not getting married, Val. I like Albert, but you don't want to marry him just because Mom's in favor of it, or because you need a second income. You should be in love and you should be sure he's the right man for you and the girls.”

“Sometimes it's hard to tell what's love and what's only indigestion,” Valerie said.

I left Valerie with the macaroni salad and drove to the office.

Connie looked around her computer screen at me when I walked in.

“Well?” I asked. “Are you married?”

“No. It turned out to be a joke photo. I caught the ten o'clock out of Vegas.”

“And the room damage?”

“It all went on Vinnie's credit card. Vinnie almost popped a vein when he heard. But then the reporters started showing up and Vinnie was distracted. The room bill got pushed on a back burner. You saved Vinnie's ass. You even made him look good. The visa bond worked. The guy fled. We found him.”