Going For Broke (11 page)

             
By the time Barbara came home, the three of them had segued from daytime talk to Jeopardy. 

             
“Victoria!” Barbara was more surprised than upset.

             
Three heads, four if you counted Fritz, turned to look at Barbara in unison.  They nodded at her in acknowledgement, then turned back to the TV. 

             
“What on earth are you doing?” Barbara asked.

             
“Grandmoth--” Parker stopped himself.  “Bubbe,” he corrected himself.

             
“Mother, how many times do I have to tell you - we’re not Jewish?  Don’t make him call you that,” Victoria said.

             
“I like it.  It’s warm,” Barbara said defensively.  “Grandmother sounds like I’m 100 years old.”

             
“But Bubbe is hip?”

             
“Bubbe -- it’s a show where they give you the answer and you have to figure out the question!  Isn’t that cool?”

             
Barbara looked at Victoria with disbelief.  “They’ve never heard of Jeopardy!?” she asked.

             
“It’s not on our regular schedule, mother,” Victoria bit back.  “Shhh - it’s Final Jeopardy!”

             
Barbara shook her head and started back for the kitchen, picking up empty boxes along the way.  She whistled for Fritz, but he didn’t move a muscle. 

             
“Hey, mom, are you going to the grocery store anytime soon?” Victoria called after her.

             
             
             
             
             
             
###

             
For the next couple of weeks, they fell into a regular routine.  Barbara was first out the door, followed by Posey and Parker.  Victoria stopped walking them to school after their third day.  It was really too much to put together an outfit just to walk them across the street to school and then have to come back and change for her day.  She would see them off from the front door in her pajamas, and watch them until they got to the crossing guard.  Maybe he wasn’t such an asshole after all.

             
She and Bud would sit at her mother’s bright yellow formica kitchen table and wordlessly read the paper and finish the pot of coffee.  Bud would leave to head out for his day, which consisted of something like the Elks Club.  Victoria didn’t know and never thought to ask.  After Bud left, Victoria would change into her  ‘day clothes’.  The True Religion jeans weren’t really comfortable, so she had borrowed a pair of sweatpants from Bud.  She had to admit, she’d never be caught dead in public in these things, though boy, they were comfortable.

             
She would load up a tray full of essentials and head back to the sofa in the living room.  Fritz would take his place at her side, and together they would spend the day engrossed in the wonders of daytime TV.  She remembered girls in college watching
All My Children
and
General Hospital
, though now daytime TV was so much more.  From Tyra to The Girls Next Door, there was something for every mood.  Reruns of
Get Smart
and
Bewitched
.  A host of dating shows, which included but were not limited to
Shot at Love with Tila Tequila
and
Date My Mom
provided hours of entertainment.   Parker and Posey came home every day after school and fell into their spots right next to her.  Victoria got hooked on their shows too.  She couldn’t believe that nobody put it together that Miley and Hannah Montana were   one in the same person.  Duh. 

             
It wasn’t until Barbara came home from work and broke up their marathon session that they would turn off the television.  Barbara would sit Parker down at the kitchen table to do his homework.  She’d make dinner, run a load of laundry, walk the dog and fall into bed each night wondering how she managed to raise such an self-absorbed child.  When she was younger, Vicky was independent, especially after Tom died.  Barbara couldn’t help feeling that her daughter had spent the past 25 years regressing.  She said a silent prayer asking that somehow Vicky could get the guidance she needed.

             
             
             
             
             
             
###

             
Mike sat in his black Dodge Ram pickup with a covered jewel top that he had picked up from the Agency’s Chicago warehouse.  He had been given a couple of options - a standard-issue cable truck, a beat-up white Econovan with ‘Phil The Painter - Color Your World’ painted on the side, or this pickup truck with various magnetic signs that he could swap out.  He chose the pickup once he saw the signs.   ‘Suz-ee’s Squeegee Windows and Gutters’, ‘Leaky Larry’s Plumbing’ and his favorite: ‘Cheryl’s Cleaning-land Chicago”.  Today his magnet read ‘
Whack-a-Mole Exterminators.’
Apparently the Chicago office had way too much time on their hands. 

 
             
He figured the truck wasn’t too conspicuous.  Then again, if he had a Suburban or a Range Rover, no one would ever notice him.  Mike sat in his truck, parked in the same spot in front of a house with a ‘For Sale’ sign in front of it.  Anyone wanting to look at the house would probably pass as it looked like they had a serious infestation problem.  Mike had a knack for making any surveillance setup feel like home.  The other agents would give him shit any time he set up shop.  Bobby Cardinale took great delight in calling him ‘old woman’ and trashing his space. It drove Bobby crazy that Mike never took the bait - he was a man comfortable in his old womanhood.

             
Not only did he have the requisite equipment issued by the agency -- computer, GPS, cell phone, binoculars, camera, gun -- he brought along enough of his own stuff to make the truck more comfortable.  From the lumbar pillow attached to the driver’s seat to the bean bag lap desk he used to hold his laptop, he was all about making a cozy spot that he could hole up for hours or days on end. 

             
The amount of food stashed in various pockets and compartments of the truck was impressive.  Mike always had his daily sandwich, prepared back at the Residence Inn with care, augmented by whatever struck his fancy that morning at the 7-11.  Chips, candy bars, energy drinks, sunflower seeds, donuts, beef jerky - nothing was off limits. 

             
He also had amassed a small mobile library.  His reading material ran the gamut from the newest biography of John Cheever to a dog-eared copy of The Thurber Carnival.  He read four newspapers every day, Time, Newsweek, US News, People, and Vanity Fair.  If nothing else came out of his time stuck in various vehicles for days and weeks on end, it was that Mike could quite possibly be one of the most sparkling dinner guests one could ask for.  He could cover any topic.

             
He could easily see the front of the Brewster house, though it didn’t seem that anyone except the kids came or went out the front door.  He was also able to see every car that came in and out of the alley.  Barbara Brewster drove a maroon 1992 Ford Taurus wagon, and Bud Brewster drove a tan 2001 Buick Century.  After watching Victoria drive out of Manhattan, he wouldn’t be surprised if he never saw Victoria behind the wheel of a car again.

             
Mike had been in the same spot for almost a week, and had never seen Victoria go beyond the front door.  She had walked the children to school on their first day,  that was it.  He wondered how long he was going to be forced to withstand this tedious assignment.  Oh well, he thought, might as well make the best of it.  He grabbed his copy of the 1986 New Trier High School yearbook and got started on his homework.  He flipped to the back of the book to look for Victoria’s listing in the index.  Patterson, George, pages 112, 154, 172, 218; Patterson, Maura, pages 112, 159, 188, 203, 222; Patterson, Victoria, page 112.  That’s it.  He flipped past the pages of Pep Club, Swim Team, Debate Club, and something called Langiappe, with no Victoria.  Her sole entry was her graduation picture.  She looked almost exactly as she did today, but softer.  No makeup, and her hair was wild.  He looked at the other Pattersons to see if there was any resemblance, though one glance at George’s giant red afro and Maura was tiny and blonde.  No relation. 

             
The ringing of his phone jarred him out of his walk down Victoria’s memory lane. 
             
“Clark, leave me the fuck alone,” he barked into the phone.

             
“Michael!” the sound of his mother’s voice on the line surprised him.

             
“Mom?  What -- where did you get this number?”  She was calling on his Agency-issued phone.  No one had this number.  Except for Clark.

             
“A very nice young man at your office gave it to me.  Chuck someone,” she said.

             
Great.  FBI agents were trained to resist giving out information to even the most brutal enemies, and Clark gives him up to a 72 year old woman.  Thanks buddy. 

             
“I’ve left you a million messages, but you never call me back,” she continued. 

             
“Mom, I’m on assignment,” he put down the yearbook and picked up a wrinkled bag of Pirate Booty. 

             
“I wanted to check with you to see if you’re going to be able to make it home for the Perkins’ wedding next month.  Sally said you never responded, and I know you’d love to see everyone.  I hear that Jenny Rovner is going to be there and that she just got a divorce.  I ran into her at the club last week and she looked fantastic.”

             
His mother was determined to get him married off if it was the last thing she did. 

             
He answered with a mouth full of Booty.  “Mom, I don’t think so.  I’m involved in something fairly open-ended, and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to make it.  Can you tell them no for me?”

             
“Why don’t I just let Sally know that you’re a maybe?”

             
“Mom --”

             
“Michael, it’s been ages since we’ve seen you.  How’s Washington?”

             
“Mom, I live in New York.  Besides, I’m in Chicago right now.”

             
“Ooh, are you working for the President now?”  His mother also was convinced that if she had to have a son who worked for the FBI, that he was a top-ranking official with full access to anyone and everyone.  Mike didn’t want to fight it.

             
“Yup - I’m in front of his Hyde Park house right now,” he said.  “And you never know when he’ll be back in town.  I should really go.”

             
“Okay honey, take care of yourself.  And please say hello to that nice Chuck back at your office.”

CHAPTER 8

             
“Vicky!” Barbara yelled at Victoria, who was engrossed in a rerun of The Brady Bunch.