Eddie Joyce - Small Mercies

“What is he anyway, Wade? Another mick? Definitely not eyetie.”

“He’s nothing.” She shrugs. “You know, American.”

Tina takes a red silk wrap out of the closet. Another new purchase. The receipt from Saks flashes in her head, four digits before the decimal. Only two items: the dress and the wrap. Absurd. And then the thought, impossible to resist, that the money for these things, things intended to impress another man, is a direct result of Bobby’s death. She wouldn’t have shopped at Saks while Bobby was alive; she barely knew it existed. Bobby’s death made her a different woman, in more ways than she could have guessed. Almost everything about her has changed, but the guilt remains.

Stephanie grabs Tina’s purse, puts the pack of Marlboro Lights in it.

“For later,” she says with a wink. She hugs Tina and kisses her cheek. “Have fun.”

“Thanks, Steph.”

“Where is he taking you anyway?”

“Some place in the city. Per Something.”

“Per Se?”

“That’s it.”

The expression on Stephanie’s face is equal parts admiration and envy. She raises her right hand, rubs her thumb over the tips of her index and middle fingers in a quick, repetitive motion.

“Oh yeah, he’s loaded.”

* * *

Tina feels better when she’s in the car with Wade. His presence calms her, takes her out of her head.

“Sorry about Steph.”

When they came downstairs, Wade was sitting on the couch, watching television with Bobby. He stood up, introduced himself to Stephanie. After she shook his hand, she touched the fabric of his tan blazer and gave Tina a knowing glance. “Cashmere,” she’d said. And then added, “Very nice,” in case her point hadn’t been caught.

“Sorry for what?”

“You know, the whole cashmere comment.”

He laughs. The jacket suits him. So do the blue tie and the BMW. He’s not trying to be something else. This is him. He has money, he won’t shove it in your face, but he won’t hide it either. He’s not ashamed.

“I’m sorry I’m a little distracted. She told me tonight that she’s having another affair. Well, maybe not an affair, but that she screwed around with one of her husband’s friends.”

“Wow, you had some day. How did everything go with Mrs. Amendola, by the way?”

She finds it endearing that he calls Gail Mrs. Amendola. She has to remind herself that Wade knows her, that they may have even met for all she knows. It’s hard to imagine that; they seem to belong to different worlds entirely. But she is his good friend’s mother. He’s probably heard Peter complaining about Gail for years. Sometimes she finds it comforting that they have this preexisting connection; sometimes it makes her uneasy. Tonight is one of the uneasy times.

He’s driving without her guidance, making his way to the West Shore Expressway. She would have taken Hylan, then Father Capodanno to the bridge, but what’s the difference? Six one way, half dozen the other.

“It went fine, I guess. I don’t know. She’s tough to read sometimes. Did you ever meet Gail?”

“Once. In college. At graduation. A few of the families went out to dinner. I doubt she’d remember. There were probably fifty people at the dinner. We were all at different tables.”

He pauses, glances over at her. He’s tucked his upper lip into his mouth, his bottom teeth are gnawing on the indrawn flesh. She doesn’t know all his ticks yet, but she knows this one. He’s hesitating, trying to decide whether to tell her something.

“Go ahead,” she says.

“Bobby was there too. I met him. I remembered that the other day when you told me you were going to tell Gail.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry.”

Sorry for what, she thinks, sorry you met my dead husband before he was dead? Or my husband? Sorry you told me? Sorry you didn’t tell me sooner? Or just plain sorry? Probably the last. There’s no easy way to talk about this.

“That’s okay. He must have been what? A senior in high school?”

“I think so. I remember Franky was teasing him about his girlfriend.”

“You mean me.”

“I guess so.”

“That’s crazy.”

“I know.”

She does a few swift calculations in her head, trying to line up certain events in relation to this meeting between Wade and Bobby: before or after. She slept with Bobby for the first time in April of their senior year. 1993. April 16th. At her house. Her parents away for the weekend. Peter’s graduation was in the middle of May. When Wade met Bobby, Bobby was not a virgin. They’d already made love. For reasons she cannot fathom, this is important to her. Crucial. Her panic subsides.

“I remember Peter telling me that Bobby and Franky were pretty close. Closer than he was to either of them.”

“Yeah, Bobby and Franky were tight. They were always together. Franky kinda went off the deep end after Bobby was killed.”

How is Franky going to react to all of this? She’s been so worried about telling Gail, but Franky is a different story altogether. He sees every little thing as an insult when it comes to Bobby’s memory; this will be a mortal sin. She’s always sensed that Franky had notions about maybe taking his brother’s place. Never stated, of course. Just a sense. But Franky’s darker thoughts have a way of making themselves heard.

Not tonight. She will not worry about this tonight.

“I’m sorry, but can we talk about something else.”

“Of course… tell me about your friend’s affair.”

She gives him the condensed version of Stephanie’s story: the Jets game, the hairs in the sink, Stephanie screwing Tommy Valenti. Wade listens to the whole story before rendering his verdict. He doesn’t interrupt like Bobby would have, peppering the story with exclamations of “No shit” or “Get the fuck outta here.” She can’t help herself; she catalogs their differences.

“Well, you can’t argue with her logic. Who does shave to go to a football game?”

“She’s crazy, but I’m guessing she’s not wrong. Vinny’s a scumbag.”

She feels self-conscious, a little coarse, a little Staten Island, using that word. She reminds herself that Wade is a grown man who has certainly heard worse, no matter what kind of jacket he wears.

“He used to work on the floor of the stock exchange. He was a specialist; I think that’s what they were called.”

“Oh, Stephanie is married to that Vinny. The specialist.”

“Yeah. How did you know that?”

“I remember Peter telling me about it. How some guy he knew from Staten Island got jammed up in the specialist investigation and he had to get him a lawyer.”

“Yeah, Petey was too concerned with his own image to take the case himself. Can’t have the gindaloons from Staten Island roaming the halls at his precious law firm.”

Wade grimaces.

“I’m sorry, I know he’s your friend.”

“It’s okay. In fairness, though, it’s really not the sort of work he does. I don’t think he handles that kind of criminal stuff. Not for individuals anyway. And on top of that, it was probably best for Vinny to get a lawyer he didn’t know.”

That’s what Peter told Stephanie, but Tina always thought it was bullshit. An excuse not to deal with Vinny.

“How’s Vinny doing? Peter told me he didn’t end up getting indicted.”

“No, he didn’t, but there was another trial. The SEC, maybe? The whole thing ended up costing them a bundle. Vinny’s not even working now. I think he just day-trades.”

“I’m sure. Those guys had the rug pulled out from under them. There’s nothing left down there. They don’t need the Vinnys of the world anymore. All the exchanges, it’s the same thing.”