The Grand Finale (8 page)

The bathroom door opened and feet traversed the upstairs hallway, stopping at the head of the stairs. “Somebody down there?”

“It’s just us, Mrs. Dugan,” Jake answered. “We were having a bite to eat before coming to bed.”

“It’s late. It’s time nice young ladies were in bed.”

“I’m trying,” Jake sighed.

“Alone!”

“Why couldn’t you adopt a bunch of old ladies who were hard of hearing?” Jake asked Berry.

Berry smiled in spite of herself. “And then there are good-night kisses that simply say, Good night.”

He was doing it again. He was dressing in front of her. The man was a flaming exhibitionist. Berry huddled under her covers and listened to the sounds of buttons and zippers. He had no modesty. He had no scruples.

“Aren’t you dressed yet?” she asked.

“Why don’t you come out from under those covers and find out?”

Berry didn’t have to come out from under the covers. She knew he wasn’t dressed. She could tell by the goose bumps on her arm. Damn him, anyway.

“Why do you have to get dressed in my room?”

“Because this is my room, too. Because this is where my clothes are. Because there are little old ladies occupying both bathrooms, and I’m
in a hurry this morning. Because I get my kicks this way, and with Mrs. Dugan around kicks are hard to come by—you have to take them when you can.” He pulled the covers back and kissed her forehead. “You should have looked. It would have been a lot more fun.”

He was wearing gray slacks, and a blue button-down shirt. Berry watched him move to his closet and select a tie from a well-stocked rack. “Did you really want me to look?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You would have been the only one undressed. Wouldn’t you have been embarrassed?”

“Yeah. That’s the fun part. You know what happens when men get embarrassed? They get—”

“I know what they get. And you’d better not!”

He gave his tie a small tug and turned to face her. “What do you think? Do I look like a first-grade teacher?”

Berry thought he looked more like a fully clothed model for a Chippendale’s calendar. She sat up in bed and told her heart to stop jumping around like that. He was just a man,
for goodness’ sake. An ordinary man wearing a pair of pants that were perfectly tailored across his slim hips and nifty butt. An ordinary man wearing a shirt that was exquisitely cut to fit luscious broad shoulders and a just-right muscled chest that tapered down to a hard, flat stomach. Why on earth was she getting so tense over this ordinary man?

Because he wasn’t ordinary. He was totally delicious and she should have looked. She was a fool not to have looked. After all, she had already seen almost all of him. There was only about five or six inches left to her imagination. The memory of those six inches could probably have carried her through old age. She stared at him in her best attempt at unblinking serenity.

“You look very nice,” she said. “Any first grader would be proud to have you for a teacher.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I have to run. I’ve called the rental agency. They’re sending a car around for you to use. Should be here by eight o’clock.”

A cab beeped in the driveway. Jake took keys and loose change from the bureau top and grabbed a navy blazer from the closet.

Berry listened to him bound down the stairs and out the door. She sprang from her bed and rushed to her window for one last glimpse of him. Too late. He was gone. He was dressed. “Dammit,” she whispered, “I really should have looked.”

She was still thinking about it at the breakfast table when she noticed an unusual silence. Everyone was watching her.

“Something wrong?” Berry asked.

“No,” Mrs. Fitz said.

“Nothing?”

“Uh-uh. Nothing wrong with me,” Mrs. Dugan said.

Berry looked at the clean teacups and unused cereal bowls. “Not eating?”

“Maybe later.”

“In a minute.”

“Not just yet.”

“Not even tea?” Berry asked.

Mrs. Fitz fidgeted in her seat. “Well, we brewed some. We just haven’t gotten around to drinking it yet.”

Berry poured herself a bowl of cereal and reached for the milk. She stopped short. “Oh.”

“Something wrong, dear?”

“No. Of course not.” She stared at the milk carton. She stared at the cereal. It looked like raisin bran. She gently pushed the raisins around with the tip of her finger. She raised her eyes to the three women. “Looks like raisin bran.”

“Yes.”

“I thought so, too.”

“Uh-huh.”

Berry sniffed at the bowl. “Smells like raisin bran.”

“Does it?”

“That’s good.”

Mrs. Fitz narrowed her eyes. “Okay, pour the milk in.”

Berry pushed the bowl over to her. “
You
pour the milk in.”

Mrs. Fitz pushed the bowl back. “Not me. No way. No, sir. Took me half an hour to get the cereal out of my hair yesterday.”

Berry compressed her lips. “This is ridiculous. This is just plain old raisin bran.” She moved her seat back a few inches and dribbled some milk into her bowl. Nothing happened.

“Stir it,” Mrs. Fitz suggested.

Berry stirred it. It didn’t crackle or pop. It didn’t fly out into space. It didn’t even bloat. “Raisin bran.”

Mrs. Fitz filled her bowl. “Thank the Lord, I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”

Miss Gaspich served tea, and all three women sipped timidly.

“Tastes like tea,” Miss Gaspich offered.

Mrs. Dugan agreed.

Mrs. Fitz swallowed a spoonful of cereal. “Don’t know whether I’m relieved or disappointed, but I’ll tell you one thing. Tomorrow morning I’m getting up in time to have breakfast with Jake. From now on he eats everything first.”

Berry ladled a generous helping of tomato sauce onto a pizza round and covered it with mozzarella. She drizzled a smidgen of olive oil and fresh basil across the masterpiece and looked up as the front door swung open and Jake sidled through carrying two grocery bags. He was followed by an elderly man, also carrying a grocery bag. From the corner of her eye Berry
saw Mrs. Fitz wipe her hands on her apron and pat her hair into place.

“Bandit at six o’clock,” Mrs. Fitz whispered, “I’m going in for the kill.”

“Mrs. Fitz, you’ve been watching too much television.”

“Movies. Isn’t that Brad Pitt a honey?”

Jake set the bags on the counter and extracted four plastic cartons containing salad. “Where’s Miss Gaspich and Mrs. Dugan?”

“Their night off.”

Jake pulled a stool up to the counter. “Here you go, Harry. We’re missing two ladies. Guess you’ll have to eat lots of salad.” Jake made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Berry and Mrs. Fitz, I’d like you to meet my good friend Harry Fee.”

Mrs. Fitz held out her hand. “My name’s Lena. Here’s a fork. You want to go to the movies later?”

Berry raised her eyebrows at Jake. “I’d like to see you back by the refrigerator, please.”

Jake brought a bag with him and haphazardly transferred food from the bag to the refrigerator.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Berry whispered.

“Putting the food away.”

“I don’t mean about the food. Wait a minute, why are you putting all this food in here? Yogurt? Oranges? Is this tuna salad?”

“You never eat anything. When the ladies were upstairs they made you come up for supper. Now that they’re at my house you make do with candy bars.”

“Who told you that?”

“I have my sources.”

“It’s a lie. I take good care of myself…most of the time,” Berry said.

“Nobody could take care of herself with the schedule you’re running. You’re suffering from too little time and too little money. You study for school while you roll out pizza dough, and you’re wearing running shoes that are held together with surgical tape because you’re trying to save money to buy a new Jeep. If that isn’t enough, you constantly let your heart rule your head. The ladies are lovely people, but they require naps, they can’t drive, they can’t deliver.” He paused and looked longingly at Berry’s mouth. “They can’t kiss.”

“Of course they can kiss, and how did we get to talking about kissing, anyway?”

He nibbled on her left earlobe. “You have this erotic effect on me.” He kissed the pulse point in her neck. “It’s become an obsession. All I ever think about is kissing you. Well, that’s not totally honest. I think about doing other things to you, too, but they’re related to kissing.”

“Get serious.”

His knee nudged against the inside of her thigh. “I’m trying. You’re not cooperating.”

Berry tried to concentrate, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember why they were back there, standing against the refrigerator. It might have something to do with tuna salad. No, she thought, that’s not it.

Mrs. Fitz bustled around the front of the shop. She gave Harry Fee a Coke and a hot piece of pizza. “We’ll have to go to the late show,” she told Harry. “I have to help Berry until the place closes.”

Jake nuzzled Berry’s hair and molded his hand to her hip. “That’s okay, Mrs. Fitz, I’ll help Berry tonight.”

Berry wriggled away. “No!”

“Yes.” Jake was firm.

“You helped me last night and the stupid car got stolen. I don’t want your help. You’re nothing but a pain in the neck.”

Jake put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “She’s crazy about me,” he told Harry. “But she’s shy. You know how women are.”

Mrs. Fitz got her sweater and her purse. “She’s a ninny,” she mumbled to Harry. “Don’t know opportunity when it comes knocking.”

Harry smiled. “I bet you don’t pass up any opportunities, Lena.”

“Not if I can help it. Trouble is, opportunities don’t come along often enough.”

Harry held the door for her and winked at Jake. “Don’t wait up.”

Berry narrowed her eyes. “What did he mean by that?”

“He meant they’re going to have an enjoyable evening at the movies, and we shouldn’t wait up.”

“That dirty old man has designs on Mrs. Fitz,” Berry said.

“I don’t believe this. You’re doing a Mrs. Dugan.”

“If anything happens to that dear, sweet old lady, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m worried about Harry.”

Berry took several pizzas from the oven and shoveled them into boxes. “Is he a really good friend? How long have you known him?”

Jake looked at his watch. “Forty-five minutes.”

“What?”

“I met him in the supermarket. Actually, I had him lined up for Mrs. Dugan. Guess I’ll have to go back to prowling the frozen food section tomorrow. Frozen food is a good place to meet old guys.”

“You purveyor!” she sputtered, wide-eyed and furious. “I know what you’re up to. I’m not stupid. You’re getting rid of my ladies. You’re getting them out of the house so you can talk about soap!”

“Yup.”

“You admit it?”

“Yup.”

“That’s despicable.”

He slouched casually against the counter, hands in his pockets. “Mrs. Fitz and Mrs. Dugan and Miss Gaspich are three terrific ladies. They’re bright and lively and lonely. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that they’d like some male companionship once in a while. And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that I’d have to be Houdini to get you into bed with Mrs. Dugan around. I think I’ve reached a creative solution to everyone’s problem.”

Berry turned on him. “It’s not the ladies who are the problem.
You’re
the problem. You’re ruining my plan. I don’t want a relationship. I don’t want your tuna salad. I was doing just fine until you came along. For the first time in my life I knew where I was going. I had goals, direction, purpose. I had self-esteem. Now I don’t know what I have. Now I have hot flashes and uncomfortable cravings.”

Jake looked outrageously pleased at that. “Really?”

“I don’t need uncomfortable cravings. I need to study my art history. You can understand that, can’t you?” Berry pleaded.

Jake took a step toward her. “What sort of cravings?”

“None of your business.”

“Ah, but it is my business.” He stood so close Berry could feel the warmth from his body swirl around her. “I feel an obligation to take care of these uncomfortable cravings.”

He didn’t understand, Berry thought sadly. She had plenty of the type of cravings he was referring to, but they weren’t the ones that scared her. It was the pudding cravings, and the baby cravings, that turned her stomach into a churning turmoil. It was the way she felt when she did his laundry and found herself fondling his clean white sweat socks, worrying if they were soft enough, white enough.

“Right now I’m going to take care of the food craving,” Berry said, digging in to her salad.

“It’s a start,” Jake said.

Rain slashed down the plate-glass windows of the Pizza Place, casting the small shop in funereal shadow. The ovens were warm against Berry’s back, but the fluorescent lighting did
nothing to dispel the gloom of cold April showers.

The front door swung open and two bedraggled men entered, stomping the rain off their sneakered feet. Their first reaction was to sniff the air and smile appreciatively.

“Lady, if I were you, I’d move my bed down here. The pizza smells great.”

Berry handed them each a slice on a paper plate. “Are you done? Is my carpet all installed?”

“Yeah. Boy, I was never so glad to be done with a job in my life. Nothing personal, but your apartment really stinks.”