David Handler - The shimmering blond sister

“Actually, I was just observing how tall and straight you’re standing.”

“Really?”

“You’re doing real well in class, Mitch. Besides, your mat is a judgment-free zone. Yoga is all about the acceptance of our lack of perfection.”

“Mitch can totally vibe with that concept,” Des said. “You should hear him play Purple Haze on his Stratocaster.”

Kenny let out a laugh, that same high-pitched whoop he’d had when they were kids-one part rebel yell, two parts Woody Woodpecker. “You wouldn’t say that to him if you weren’t wearing that.” Meaning her holstered SIG.

“Actually, she would,” Mitch told him. “My sound is something of an acquired taste. Kimberly, are your folks into yoga, too?”

“Not at all. But they’re both very active. Father still does the same Royal Canadian Air Force calisthenics every morning that he’s been doing since I was a little girl. Mother plays tennis and tends the Captain Chadwick Blush Noisettes like a demon. Mother’s very particular about ‘her’ roses. Won’t let Augie within ten feet of the things. They were planted way back in the fifties, I’m told. Tourists always stop to take pictures of them. The two of them will be along soon. Mother has this thing about always showing up twenty minutes late. Something she learned at finishing school.”

Beth returned now with a platter of sizzling stuffed mushrooms. Set it down on the table, poured herself a glass of white wine and joined them.

“Des, did you know that this guy here saved my life?” Kenny said. “Real deal. If it weren’t for Mitch Berger I would be embedded face down in the Stuyvesant Town playground to this very day.”

“Lapidus, I think you’re overselling it a bit,” Mitch said.

“If that’s the case then he’s been overselling it for twenty years,” Beth said. “Because that’s how long I’ve been hearing this story.”

“See, there was this incredibly hulking playground bully named Bruce Cooperman,” Kenny continued, ignoring them both. “He was a total goon. And huge. At age ten he was already shaving. Everyone was terrified of him. Everyone except for Berger. One day after school, I’m shooting hoops on the basketball court and Bruce starts giving me all sorts of grief. Takes my ball away from me, knocks me down, puts his big, fat foot on my neck and won’t let me back up. Won’t let me breathe. I’m facedown on the pavement, preparing to meet my maker, when I hear Berger say, ‘You’re being kind of rough on the little guy, aren’t you? Wanna try that with me?’ ”

“I stole that line from The Dirty Dozen,” Mitch interjected. “Clint Walker said it to John Cassavetes.”

“Bruce backed right off and gave me my ball back. And he never, ever bothered me again-because he knew that if he did, he’d have to take on Mitchell Berger, King of the Playground. Berger used to take me to see his favorite old movies, too. Heck, he pretty much taught me what cool was.”

“This is disturbing on so many different levels,” Des said, awestruck.

“Don’t mind her, Lapidus. She’s just bitter about being on duty tonight.”

“Ah yes, this would be the infamous Dorset Flasher. He strikes every weekend, I understand.”

“That’s correct.” Des raised an eyebrow at him. “And you come down here every weekend, right?”

“Why, yes. Yes, I do. Got in last night around 8:30. I drove my Prius down. It’s the light green one parked out front. I take Amtrak when I can but the train leaves Boston at 5:35 and sometimes I just can’t get away that early. The next train isn’t until 9:45, which means I don’t get here until midnight. So I jumped in the Prius. Made it here in just under two hours. Man, you would not believe the highway mileage that bad boy gets if I keep the speedometer just under

…” Kenny gulped, his eyes widening. “Whoa, you don’t think I’m the Flasher, do you?”

Des shook her head. “The man I’m looking for hasn’t got a love life. And you most certainly do.”

Kenny and Kimberly beamed at each other as the doorbell rang. Beth answered it and came back out onto the porch with Kimberly’s parents, Dex and Maddee. Beth’s smile seemed fixed a bit tighter now.

The notorious Dex Farrell wore a blue-and-white seersucker suit, red bow tie, crisp white shirt and polished cordovan loafers. His gaze was probing behind his rimless glasses. If Dex had been a Hollywood character actor, Mitch reflected, he would have specialized in playing judges and senators. He had a big head of neatly brushed white hair, a strong, decisive jaw. His manner was that of a man given to serious reasoning and sound judgment. All of which was a total deception. In reality he was none of those things. His wife Maddee was tallish and painfully thin. She wore a yellow summer dress, a pearl necklace and a truly alarming amount of bright magenta lipstick.

Kimberly went over to greet them with Des in tow. Animated conversation ensued. Mitch was about to join them when Kenny held him back.

“I know this comes out of nowhere, Berger, but I have a slightly humongous favor to ask of you. Would you be my best man?”

“Lapidus, I’d be honored… Wait, do I have to wear a tux?”

“I’m afraid so. And if you want to pass I’ll certainly understand.”

“For you, it’s no problem. Consider it done.”

Kenny let out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank God. Seriously, I may not survive the experience if you’re not right there by my side. Maddee’s insisting on a full-frontal Yacht Club freak show. I love Kimmy to death but her folks are… scary. Dex isn’t what you’d commonly think of as All There. And Maddee’s just real tightly wrapped. Plus she’s one of those insular country club types who’s never worked a day in her life. Mom can’t stand her, though she adores Kimmy. Hell, how can you not? And as long as the two of us are happy, mom’s cool with it.”

Dex Farrell built himself a gin and tonic and sat on the wicker sofa with it, his gaze fixed out on the rather gaudy rose garden. Mitch fortified himself with four more devilled eggs and headed on over there. “Mr. Farrell? I’m Mitch Berger.”

He stared at Mitch for a second before he said, “Of course you are, sir.” Dex spoke very softly. And slo-o-owly. Forcing Mitch to lean in closer to him. “Please… join me, Mr. Berger.”

Mitch flopped down next to him. “Only if you make it Mitch, okay?”

“She’s a fine figure of a woman-your fiancee.”

“We’re not engaged. We were, but we’re not anymore.”

“My mistake. Sorry if I raised a sore subject.”

“You didn’t.”

Maddee Farrell swooped down on them now like a protective mother hawk. “And this must be Mr. Berger,” she exclaimed brightly.

“He prefers to go by Mitch,” Dex informed her.

“Mitch, I’ve had have numerous opportunities to meet your lovely fiancee but I’ve never-”

“They’re not engaged. They were, but they’re not anymore.”

“It’s just such a pleasure to meet you at long last.” Maddee was an anxious woman with a strained, almost desperate expression on her face. Tightly wrapped indeed. “I understand you’ve recently lost a good deal of weight. I mention this because if you have any clothes that no longer fit, we’re always looking for items for the Nearly New shop at St. Anne’s. Just drop them by any time.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” said Mitch, who’d already deposited his former wardrobe on the sidewalk in front of his apartment on West 102 Street. Every item was gone in less than sixty seconds.

Maddee studied him with keen-eyed interest. Mitch was still waiting for the lady to blink. “I hope you have an open mind.”

“I certainly try to.”

“My Dex is neither a monster nor a thief. Merely guilty of behaving like a gentleman. And for that he has been demonized, ostracized and-”