All Your Pretty Dreams (21 page)

Edie, at a polka mass:
scary. Isabel smiled despite herself.

“
You think they’ll let me
in?”

“
Tuck your shirt in. I
have to sit with my family. I’ll see you afterwards.”

She jumped out of the car,
rescuing some panties and a sock from the gutter. She ran up the
wide granite steps. Organ music moaned through the sanctuary doors.
If the music was still blaring, the service hadn’t started yet. Her
father was pacing in the entry hall, looking at his watch. His hair
was greased. He wore a black suit and a white shirt, very
starched.

“
Thank God, Isabel,” he
whispered, putting her arm through his.

“
Where is
everyone?”

“
Seated.” They began
walking down the red-carpeted aisle. Isabel had a wedding moment,
as if she was wearing white not black. The cathedral was enormous,
music bouncing off gothic arches and stained glass, acres of
flowers. Hundreds of people, mostly gray-haired and pious. She
couldn’t help thinking that Egon would laugh at that category of
his friends. He was never reverential, or accepting of frailty of
any kind.

“
Where’s your friend?” Max
whispered.

“
Parking. You’ll meet him
later.”

“
I better. He’s my hero,
getting my girl here in time.”

“
How is Edie
doing?”

He didn’t have time to
answer. He waved her into the first pew on the left, and she sank
down next to Daria.

——

Jonny bounded up the steps
of the cathedral, marveling at the grand scale. Church architecture
was a specialty he didn’t have much experience with, from a design
or construction point of view. One of the firm’s architects
designed a modern church for some Greek Orthodox people, all boxy
and stark white. This was a cathedral of the old school,
mid-19
^th
Century, rangy and voluptuous, pure ornamentation.

In the dark, wood-lined
entry, the sanctuary doors were closed. A pinch-faced woman in a
navy blue suit gave him a program and led him to the right side.
She made him stand by while she peeked in, waiting for the correct
moment. Then she whispered for him to move quietly.

At least she didn’t deny
him entry for wearing a t-shirt and tennis shoes. He had grabbed a
navy sports coat, an old brass-button one hanging in his closet
from high school. He sat down and looked at the program. The
minister was so far away he could barely see him. At least he could
read all about old Egon Salvatore Warwick, 1917 – 2009.

According to the family
legend Egon had inherited the family business just in time to go
off to war. He was older than Reinholt, and a whole lot richer.
Banking, maybe, hard to tell. The program, written by some family
member, assumed everyone knew who he was. What his place in society
was.

Around the cathedral a lot
of dry eyes and a spark of curiosity from mourner to mourner: see
and be seen at Egon Warwick’s funeral. Jonny felt like a
professional funeral attendee, one of those people whose hobby was
watching people cry. He didn’t like to cry, or think about dying.
But what else was he going to do? He’d driven for over six hours
and was tired. Isabel had taken a long nap in the car but he’d
skipped lunch, his eyes glued to the highway. Maybe a nap in the
back of the cathedral was the ticket. After that, well, he would
keep his options open.

He had the pew to himself,
eyelids drooping, when a middle-aged couple sidled into the pew,
blinking at the church, at women wearing old-fashioned hats, at
squirming children, at flashy gold and expensive tans. After a
glance at him, they made no eye contact.

The music was pretty bleak.
Hoary old hymns played at dirge pace. The priest and his assistants
provided most of the entertainment, but he couldn’t really see what
they were doing. A couple of women made short speeches. A golf
partner told funny stories about how bad a golfer Egon was. Jonny
felt his eyes close.

Suddenly everyone was
standing. He pulled himself upright in time to be blindsided by
Daria, jumping down the pew toward him. She stopped just short of
hugging him, which would have been strange under any
circumstances.

“
Hey, Jonny,” she said,
taking his arm. “Thanks for bringing Iz. So, here’s the deal. Some
of the old people are going out to the cemetery and get Egon in the
ground, but we told dear old Mom we would help set up the shack for
the reception so we’re headed home now. Where’s your car? Let’s get
out of here.” She yanked him by the sleeve, down the aisle and
outside.

The sisters didn’t want to
wait by the church for the car. That would mean enduring the
sympathy of legions of strangers, people who knew Egon from
business, the club, or college even. So they all walked the four
blocks, down the leafy wide streets, to the Fairlane.

“
Did a bomb go off back
there?” Daria asked. She stepped back and let Isabel sit in the
middle in front.

“
Pay no attention to the
mess behind the seat,” Isabel said, sliding in. She got a good look
at Jonny. “Where did you make that appear from? A magic
hat?”

“
This old thing?” He shot
the cuffs of his sports jacket. “A gentleman is always
prepared.”

Daria gave directions into
a gated community near the lake. The security guard curled a lip at
the car and waved them through.

The shack turned out to be
a mock Tudor mansion set in a football field of immaculate grass
and towering oaks and pines. They parked in front of the five-car
garage and walked through a flower garden to the back door. Jonny
had done drawings for houses like this, lots of them, and he could
almost guess the floor plan from the outside. The library, the
study, the enormous kitchen with butler’s pantry, the media room.
This one was tasteful and expensive. And big enough to house the
Chicago Bears training camp.

The girls disappeared
upstairs. The helping part was a ruse apparently. There was no
point in helping the staff or the scads of caterers. They had
things well in hand, running in all directions in white shirts and
black slacks. Jonny stayed out of their way, wandering through
cream silk rooms full of deadly sweet lilies. A caterer bumped into
him, almost tossing a huge silver tray. He tiptoed back into the
yard and admired the roses. His mother’s were prettier but these
weren’t bad. Wandering the yard he found a pool tucked away behind
a building big enough for a family of five. A pool house, somewhere
he wouldn’t be disturbed. He stretched out on a chaise on the
terrace and promptly fell asleep.

People started arriving
within fifteen minutes of the end of the service. Daria had
collapsed in her old bedroom and Isabel was in the bathroom when
the housekeeper, Solana, knocked on the door.
Guests
. No point in calling them
mourners. Daria smoothed her dress and went downstairs. Isabel took
a shower, dried her hair, and put on some mascara. She slipped back
into her sleeveless black dress and flats. She looked terrible in
black, she thought, biting her lips for a little color.

By the time she got
downstairs the living room was full and the line at the makeshift
bar was ten deep. Guests were devouring the rich spread on the
dining room table: elaborate canapés, petit fours, French cheese,
caviar. Her cousin Frick was into the champagne. He poured her a
glass.

“
So we meet again under
such sad circumstances,” Frick said with a smirk. “How are the bees
doing?”

“
Fine. As if you care.”
Isabel sipped the champagne. “Have you seen our
mothers?”

“
Not yet. Still time to
party.” He poured himself another glass then startled. “Oh, Jesus,
there’s my brother.”

Half-brother, more
accurately, from his mother’s first marriage to a wealthy New
Englander who decided he liked men better than women. Tall and as
straight-laced as a Boston banker can be, James made his way
through the crowd to Isabel. He kissed her on the cheek and shook
Frick’s hand.

“
Is that for me?” James
asked, looking at the champagne in Frick’s hand.

“
No but I’ll pour you one
if you promise not to tell Lulu.”

James promised nothing.
“Where is our mother?”

“
At the cemetery. Did you
just get in?”

“
Couldn’t get an early
flight. I had some business this morning anyway. What have you been
up to, Isabel? I haven’t seen you for ages.”

Isabel sketched in her
summer for him and his eyes glazed over. He was a capitalist, a
chip off several silver-forged blocks, so it was hard to blame him.
Still, enthusiasm for something besides money might have made him a
little more interesting. She asked him if he had a special someone
in his life.

He looked at her hard, as
if she was asking if he was gay like his father, the last thing on
her mind. Once in junior high, she’d wandered into the pool house
and discovered James with his pants around his ankles, riding a
sorority girl.

“
I’ve been seeing a girl,
thanks for asking. She’s getting her doctorate at BU.
Psychology.”

“
BU?” Frick sneered. “P-U.
Couldn’t she get into Harvard?”

James himself hadn’t gotten
into Harvard, but it was unclear if Frick knew that. “That where
you’re headed, Fred?”

“
Or Yale. Stanford’s my
safety school.”

Isabel excused herself.
Aging neighbors were a relief from male posturing. If Frick made it
into any of those schools— oh, who was she kidding? He’d probably
be president of Young Republicans at Yale next year. She made the
rounds of the room, greeting as many people as would catch her eye,
then headed to the kitchen. Solana was taking a break, sitting down
with a cup of coffee. Isabel accepted a hug and talked to the
housekeeper awhile, asked about her children and grandchildren. The
kitchen window overlooked the back gardens cloaked in twilight. She
could just make out the garage and several cars parked there. The
Fairlane looked like a poor relation, which of course it was. Jon!
Where was he?

“
Have you seen the guy we
came with?” Solana hadn’t. Isabel excused herself, slipping out the
back door. She was looking inside the Fairlane at her mess when her
parents drove up in the black Mercedes.

This would be the first
time she’d spoken to her mother. Isabel was stiff, waiting for
Edie’s greeting, if there was to be one. She always braced herself
for conversation with her mother. Edie and Max got out of the car,
Lulu and her husband Chuck emerging from the back seat. Max took
Isabel’s arm and walked her around the car.

Edie was pale, her hair
pulled into a tight twist. She straightened her shoulders, pausing
in front of her daughter. “Is everything going all
right?”

“
Solana has—” Isabel
paused. “I’m so sorry, Mother.”

Edie’s face twitched. “It’s
been a long day,” she said. Then she turned on her heel and walked
to the house.

An hour later, the house
bursting with business associates, relatives, and neighbors, Frick
whispered to Isabel that he’d gone swimming and there was someone
sleeping by the pool. A bum, maybe a thief, he said excitedly. Her
cousin waved an uncorked bottle of champagne by the neck, already
quite drunk. Isabel grabbed it and a couple glasses, plunging out
into the yard. She kicked off her shoes in the lawn. The grass
tickled her feet. She was a little tipsy herself. The smell of the
lake, fishy and rotting, was comforting. The buzz from the
champagne made her feel light, as if she could fly across the
grass.

The evening was warm.
Fireflies flew in lazy circles. Out on the water a flapping sound
like a duck. Through the trees lamplight streaked across the lake
in golden ripples. She rounded the corner of the pool house and
stopped on the flagstones. Where was he? The light was almost gone.
She could make out lumps that must be lawn chairs, and the edge of
the pool.

“
Jon?” Her whisper seemed
too loud.

The quiet of the night
crept up from the lake, the croaking of frogs and the hoot of an
owl off in the woods. She peered into the shadows. “Are you
there?”

Then, two hands grabbed her
from behind. “Boo!”

The next thing she knew, a
piercing pain stabbed her foot. Glass, broken. She’d dropped the
glasses but hung onto the bottle somehow. She was cursing, hopping,
then trying not to hop. Where was the glass? He was jumping around,
apologizing, trying to grab her. In the dark they couldn’t see
anything. “Don’t move!” Suddenly she was off her feet. Jonny had
picked her up and was carrying her and her bleeding foot toward the
pool house.

“
Open the door,” he said
from behind her neck. He had pinned her arms to her sides so he had
to lower her to reach the knob. She felt his breath and the
strength of his arms. He deposited her on the sofa and flipped on
the light.

Blood was everywhere, on
his jeans and shoes, on the tile, on her foot. Isabel picked up her
foot, crossing it over her knee, and began picking out slivers of
glass. Jonny went into the bathroom and returned with a wet
towel.