4 Decoupage Can Be Deadly (5 page)

THREE

As soon as the show officially closed Sunday afternoon, my fellow editors and I headed for the ladies’ room to change into jeans and sneakers. When we arrived back at the
American Woman
booth, we began breaking down and packing the booth for transport to our New Jersey offices.

While we wrapped models in bubble wrap, we discovered more damage. Much of what Philomena’s minions had tossed behind the booth Friday night either needed repair, cleaning, or both. The remainder, like my Potichomanie decoupaged bowl, were unsalvageable. I tossed the broken models on the pile of discarded cartons that had held issues of our magazine.

“Would it have killed them to take the time to place items in a box?” I asked no one in particular.

“Chalk it up to the
Me
generation,” said Cloris, frowning at some dented bake ware that looked like someone had stepped on it. “They don’t care about anything but themselves.”

“If you ask me,” said Jeanie, “this looks like deliberate destruction.”

“But why?” I asked. “Our magazine is no competition to
Bling!
We target a completely different demographic.”

“Maybe someone doesn’t see it that way.”

Next door, the
Bling!
booth stood empty of employees. Neither Philomena nor Gruenwald ever returned that afternoon, and the others darted for the exit the moment the show closed. The booth remained empty while we all worked, and it continued to stand empty after we’d packed up everything except for the back panels and counters Philomena and her entourage had appropriated from us.

“Maybe they think the convention center fairies appear at night to break down the booths,” suggested Janice.

“The same ones that set up their booth for them?” asked Jeanie.

I turned to Naomi. “Now what? I’m not breaking down their booth.”

“Me, neither,” said Cloris. The others echoed our sentiments.

“I wouldn’t think of asking you,” said Naomi. “Just pack up what remains of our booth.”

“What about the stuff they have displayed on our panels and counters?” asked Serena.

“We should treat all of it with the same care they treated our stuff,” said Tessa.

“I didn’t hear that,” said Naomi. She stepped out of the booth and headed toward the ladies’ room.

Cloris turned to me and whispered, “Plausible deniability, Sherlock?”

“Indubitably, Watson.”

Naomi returned as we were attaching the address labels to our shipping containers. “Drinks are on me, ladies.”

Naomi suggested a tapas bar on Ninth Ave. The nine of us hiked the distance, a more comfortable trek than the previous night, thanks to my Nikes. Drinks segued into dinner, and by the time I arrived home, night had descended on Westfield. Which is probably why I didn’t notice Ira’s gray minivan parked in front of my house when I turned into the driveway.

The moment I stepped into my kitchen, I realized the confrontation I’d hoped to avoid for the next millennium, or at least the remainder of Lucille’s life, was in full swing in my living room. I stood out of sight and listened.

“I don’t know what kind of con you’re running, young man, but I’ll have you arrested! How dare you barge in here spouting such lies? My Isidore was certainly not your father! I should know.”

“The only lies are the ones you’ve been spewing for decades, you Bolshevik cow.” This from Mama. “
Your
Isidore wasn’t kidnapped by the government; he ran out on you.”

“You don’t know any such thing!” yelled Lucille. “I’ll bet you hired this imposter to confront me. Admit it.”

“You’re crazy,” said Mama. “Look at him. He’s the spitting image of Karl.”

“All part of his scheme, no doubt,” said Lucille. “How much did the plastic surgery cost you? What do you expect to get out of this scam? Money?”

“You don’t have any money,” I said, stepping into the living room. “And Ira isn’t running a scam, Lucille.”

She clutched Mephisto to her chest and glared at me over his squirming body. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you know this imposter.”

“Yes, I know Ira, and I also know he’s Karl’s half-brother.”

“Lies! All lies!” As she pounded her fist on the arm of the sofa, Mephisto wriggled free of her grasp and lumbered off her lap. “You’re in on it, too!”

Ralph chose that moment to fly across the room and squawk his two cents. “
Gods, what lies I have heard!
”
Cymbeline
. Act Four, Scene Two.”

“To what end?” I asked my mother-in-law. “What possible motive would I have for lying to you?”

Lucille jutted out her chin. “I know I’m not wanted here. You’re all trying to drive me crazy and force me back into that horrendous nursing home. You’d stoop to anything to get rid of me.”

Yes, including replicating Karl’s DNA, apparently.

Lucille leveraged her cane to force herself off the sofa. She still wasn’t all that steady on her feet after her stroke and brain surgery, but she refused to use her walker. For a moment I feared she’d topple forward onto the floor. I lunged to steady her, but she slapped my hand away. “Don’t touch me!”

She raised her cane and pointed at Ira. “I’m not listening to any more of these blatant lies. If you show up here again, expect to be arrested for fraud and false impersonation. Come, Manifesto.” She then turned her back on all of us and shuffled off to her bedroom, expecting her dog to follow. Devil Dog had other ideas, though, and instead headed for the kitchen.

“Well, that went as well as expected,” said Mama.

“Was this your doing?” I asked her.

“Really, Anastasia! It was only a matter of time before she found out. I told you that.”

I ignored her to confront the real culprit. “Why are you here, Ira?”

Before he could answer, Nick and Alex burst through the front door. “Hey, Mom! Did you hear?” asked Alex. He threw his arms around me and crushed me in an exuberant bear hug. “Isn’t it the coolest birthday present ever?”

“Whose birthday?”

“Mine.”

“Your birthday was three months ago. Trust me, I was there the day you were born. It’s not a date I’m likely to forget.”

Alex laughed. “I know, but Uncle Ira didn’t know me back then. It’s a belated birthday present.”

I extricated myself from Alex’s lanky arms and turned to the giver of the as yet undisclosed gift. Ira’s neediness rankled me from the moment I first met him back in early July. He’d been worming his way into our lives ever since. This wasn’t the first time he’d tried to buy my kids’ affection. The man had more money than common sense. “What did you give him, Ira?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but Alex beat him to it. “A Jeep! He gave me a Wrangler, Mom! Look!”

Alex grabbed my hand, pulled me into the foyer, and swung open the front door. A Jeep sat parked at the curb in front of Ira’s minivan.

“It’s pre-owned,” said Ira, coming up behind us. “But it’s certified. And extremely safe.”

“I’m sure it is,” I said, a fact that was so beside the point at the moment, that it didn’t even belong in the same galaxy with the conversation I needed to have with him. “Ira, you and I need to talk. In private.”

“Mom, you’re not—”

“Please go to your room, Alex, and take your brother with you.”

“But—”

“Now.” I hated playing the villain, but if I didn’t set firm boundaries now, I’d have an even bigger problem on my hands in the future.

Alex stood his ground. “You’re not going to let me keep the car, are you?”

Instead of answering, I pointed in the direction of his bedroom. He nodded toward his brother, and the two of them reluctantly dragged themselves down the hall.

“Ira,” I said after the boys were out of earshot, “I know you mean well, but you can’t give my son a car.”

“Why not?” asked Mama.

“Because it’s inappropriate.”

“We’re family,” said Ira. “How is it inappropriate?”

Did I really need to explain? “You didn’t give Alex a video game, Ira. You gave him a gift that costs tens of thousands of dollars.”

“I picked it up wholesale,” he said. “It wasn’t all that expensive.”

Ira owned a string of car dealerships in Mercer and Hunterdon Counties, but the cost of the vehicle was totally beside the point. I stared at the hurt look on his face. “You really don’t get it, do you? Ira, you can’t buy your way into our lives.”

Mama placed her hand on my arm. “He’s just being generous, dear.”

“Look,” said Ira. “I have a lot of money. More than I know what to do with. What’s the point of being rich if I can’t derive pleasure from spending my money on people I care about? You have financial problems, thanks to my half-brother. Why shouldn’t I help?”

“A half-brother you never knew,” I reminded him. “And my financial problems are not your problems.”

Mama threw her arms up in the air. “For goodness sake, Anastasia. Stop being so stubborn. Family helps family. That’s why you opened your home to that pinko commie, isn’t it? Alex needs a car. For that matter, so do you.”

She turned to Ira. “Have you seen that rattletrap she’s driving?”

“Mama!”

“Don’t
Mama
me. Stop being a martyr for once and accept Ira’s help. Lawrence and I have.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ira bought us a condo in Scotch Plains. Now Lawrence and I can get married.”

“How does Cynthia feel about that?” I asked Ira.

“She left me.”

FOUR

“I’m sorry,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure I meant it. My one and only encounter with Cynthia Pollack had me convinced she married Ira for his money.

“It wasn’t working out,” he said.

“What about the kids?”

“She didn’t want to have anything to do with them. I never should have married her, but I was terribly lonely after Kristin died.”

“Kristin?”

“My first wife. I lost her to cancer two years ago.”

I had suspected Cynthia was a trophy wife. Now I knew she was actually a gold-digger. I suppose that also explained Ira’s spoiled brat kids. I’d never met them, but from what Alex and Nick told me, I wasn’t looking forward to the prospect.

Learning about Ira’s past went a long way to explaining his neediness and why he wanted to be a part of our lives. I felt sorry for him, but that didn’t mean I wanted him as any more of a fixture in my life. I dreaded the inevitable
quid pro quo
. If I accepted a car today, I’d probably get stuck babysitting three spoiled brats every weekend while their father dove back into the dating pool.

“About Alex’s car?” asked Ira.

“Please, Mom!”

I turned to find my son eavesdropping from the hallway. So much for my private conversation with Ira.

“You have enough money for the insurance?” I asked. Alex had worked all summer at Starbucks and continued working a few hours a week since the start of school.

“I think so.”

“And paying for driver’s ed lessons?”

“I’ll teach him,” offered Ira.

“He still needs to take driver’s ed for the lower insurance rate.”

“I can work a few extra hours a week,” said Alex.

“Along with the driver’s ed, your sports, and homework. I don’t see how you’ll have the time—”

“I’ll make the time, Mom.”

“Without your grades suffering? You need to keep your GPA up to qualify for scholarships.”

“I’ll keep my grades up. I promise. Please!”

A second car would certainly make my life easier, but I couldn’t shake the feeling I was about to enter into a Faustian bargain. “I’ll sleep on it,” I finally said.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Alex lifted me into the air and swung me around.

“I didn’t say yes,” I reminded him.

“But she will,” said Mama. She winked at Alex before he raced down the hall to tell his brother the news I hadn’t as yet agreed to.

“I should be going,” said Ira.

“How did you get both your car and the Jeep here,” I asked as I walked him to the door.

“Two of my guys helped me. That’s why I got here so late tonight. I had to wait for both of them to be available this weekend.”

“One more thing,” I said as he stepped outside. “No more surprises. Next time you consult with me before you do anything for or give anything to my sons.”

“So Alex can keep the car?”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“I’d be happy to find one for you, too, Anastasia.”

“I have a car.”

“No, you have a rattletrap.”

“But it’s
my
rattletrap. Goodnight, Ira.”

“Goodnight, Anastasia.” He bent down and kissed my cheek, which creeped me out a bit, given his strong resemblance to Dead Louse of a Spouse.