wonderful, simple realm of reality
physics provided. Eric's murderer couldn't possibly be another physicist, I
told myself again, and revisited the temptation to rule out Leder, Connie, and
Jim for that reason alone.
Just before eleven o'clock Rose called up to me on the
intercom that connected the three floors at Galigani's Mortuary.
"How are you doing?" she asked. "Have you
seen Eric?"
For the second question, Rose went into her graveside voice.
After years in the business, she moved easily from her normal light tones to
her compassionate business voice. Anyone listening to her would know that Eric
was lying dead in a funeral parlor, and not someone you might have seen walking
along Broadway that morning.
"No, I'd rather not go in until the family sees
him," I said.
"Frank did a good job," Rose said.
"I'm sure he did," I said. I remembered Frank's
pride when he first worked out a formula that gave the skin of his corpses a
more life-like color. He added a pink dye to the formaldehyde mixture and was
able to eliminate much of the heavy make-up I saw at most viewings. Every time
I paid my respects to shapeless faces with crusty orange make-up I renewed my
resolution to be cremated. I hadn't told that to Rose and Frank yet.
"Peter called to see if Frank and I wanted to join you
two at the Wonderland dance tomorrow night," Rose said.
I clenched my teeth and rubbed at a dull ache that had taken
over my face around my jaw, scowling at the now-droopy roses Peter had brought
as if they'd betrayed me. I decided not to continue the conversation with Rose
in the bent-over position I'd assumed in order to use the intercom, which was
at the back of my desk.
"Why don't you come on up," I said. "I'll
give you lunch and the short form of my feelings in that regard."
"Will do."
~~~~
I gave Rose the recent history of my interactions with
Peter, feeling as though we'd reverted to our days of whispering about boys in
the girls' room.
"I always knew Peter had more than one reason for
maintaining a friendship with me and Frank all these years," Rose said.
"Not that we didn't get along, but I knew he was using us to keep up with
what you were doing."
I let out a long sigh, as if we were fifteen, and Rose had
just told me that the kid with the most pimples in homeroom liked me and wanted
to take me to the senior prom. If we're going to do this, I thought, we might
as well go all the way.
"What do you know about Matt Gennaro?" I asked.
"Aha," Rose said. "Now we're getting
somewhere."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Come on, Gloria, it's time you grew up a little in
that area."
"I don't think I like the way this is going."
"You don't have to. Just let me take care of it."
I knew Rose was right. I did need to figure out what if
anything I was going to do about my love life. While I lived in California, I'd
had what might be called dates, mostly arranged by Elaine, but not many, and
never past the stage of a goodnight kiss. I'd been Elaine's maid of honor twice
and saw her through two divorces. Not much inspiration for trying myself, I'd
mused, conveniently ignoring the successful decades-long Galigani marriage.
By now I was flushed and pacing up and down on the four-foot
paisley runner between my entryway and living room. I faced Rose's direct
attack head on.
"Let's have lunch," I said.
I wandered into the kitchen, Rose at my heels, and pulled
out the makings of sandwiches and a mini salad bar. Rose kept at it while she
made the coffee.
"I'm not talking about a big deal," Rose said.
"Frank knows Matt. We buried his wife ten years ago. Genetic heart
disease. That's why they didn't have children. Very sad." Rose paused to
acknowledge the tragedy of a woman dying in her forties. It was the first I'd
heard about how and when Matt's wife had died. I wanted to know more but
refrained from asking follow-up questions. Rose was in enough of a hurry to get
us together. "Frank would know if he's seeing anyone at the moment,"
Rose continued.
physics provided. Eric's murderer couldn't possibly be another physicist, I
told myself again, and revisited the temptation to rule out Leder, Connie, and
Jim for that reason alone.
Just before eleven o'clock Rose called up to me on the
intercom that connected the three floors at Galigani's Mortuary.
"How are you doing?" she asked. "Have you
seen Eric?"
For the second question, Rose went into her graveside voice.
After years in the business, she moved easily from her normal light tones to
her compassionate business voice. Anyone listening to her would know that Eric
was lying dead in a funeral parlor, and not someone you might have seen walking
along Broadway that morning.
"No, I'd rather not go in until the family sees
him," I said.
"Frank did a good job," Rose said.
"I'm sure he did," I said. I remembered Frank's
pride when he first worked out a formula that gave the skin of his corpses a
more life-like color. He added a pink dye to the formaldehyde mixture and was
able to eliminate much of the heavy make-up I saw at most viewings. Every time
I paid my respects to shapeless faces with crusty orange make-up I renewed my
resolution to be cremated. I hadn't told that to Rose and Frank yet.
"Peter called to see if Frank and I wanted to join you
two at the Wonderland dance tomorrow night," Rose said.
I clenched my teeth and rubbed at a dull ache that had taken
over my face around my jaw, scowling at the now-droopy roses Peter had brought
as if they'd betrayed me. I decided not to continue the conversation with Rose
in the bent-over position I'd assumed in order to use the intercom, which was
at the back of my desk.
"Why don't you come on up," I said. "I'll
give you lunch and the short form of my feelings in that regard."
"Will do."
~~~~
I gave Rose the recent history of my interactions with
Peter, feeling as though we'd reverted to our days of whispering about boys in
the girls' room.
"I always knew Peter had more than one reason for
maintaining a friendship with me and Frank all these years," Rose said.
"Not that we didn't get along, but I knew he was using us to keep up with
what you were doing."
I let out a long sigh, as if we were fifteen, and Rose had
just told me that the kid with the most pimples in homeroom liked me and wanted
to take me to the senior prom. If we're going to do this, I thought, we might
as well go all the way.
"What do you know about Matt Gennaro?" I asked.
"Aha," Rose said. "Now we're getting
somewhere."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Come on, Gloria, it's time you grew up a little in
that area."
"I don't think I like the way this is going."
"You don't have to. Just let me take care of it."
I knew Rose was right. I did need to figure out what if
anything I was going to do about my love life. While I lived in California, I'd
had what might be called dates, mostly arranged by Elaine, but not many, and
never past the stage of a goodnight kiss. I'd been Elaine's maid of honor twice
and saw her through two divorces. Not much inspiration for trying myself, I'd
mused, conveniently ignoring the successful decades-long Galigani marriage.
By now I was flushed and pacing up and down on the four-foot
paisley runner between my entryway and living room. I faced Rose's direct
attack head on.
"Let's have lunch," I said.
I wandered into the kitchen, Rose at my heels, and pulled
out the makings of sandwiches and a mini salad bar. Rose kept at it while she
made the coffee.
"I'm not talking about a big deal," Rose said.
"Frank knows Matt. We buried his wife ten years ago. Genetic heart
disease. That's why they didn't have children. Very sad." Rose paused to
acknowledge the tragedy of a woman dying in her forties. It was the first I'd
heard about how and when Matt's wife had died. I wanted to know more but
refrained from asking follow-up questions. Rose was in enough of a hurry to get
us together. "Frank would know if he's seeing anyone at the moment,"
Rose continued.
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