My Best Man by Andy Schell (unputdownable books .txt) 📗

When she sees me, Amity commands, “Come on, Susan. Hit it!”

They put their arms over each other’s shoulders to form a little kick line and sing while doing kicks:

We walk alike, we talk alike,

we even shop for clothes alike. What a wild duet!

We are Petries.

Laura Petries in our pants!

Mary Tyler Moore would sue. So would Patty Duke. Amity and my mother break from each other and laugh. They’re both acting as if the whole scene with Nicolo didn’t happen. No wonder my mother finds Amity to be such a great chum: They’re two positive peas in a pod of denial.

The ladies who lunch are surrounded by shopping bags and boxes. On the fireplace mantel are two glasses of wine. Amity keeps sniffling, and I suspect she’s been excusing herself to the ladies’ room throughout the day and snorting little spoonfuls of coke, unbeknown to my mother. I don’t know how she’s obtained it. I haven’t been giving her cash, and she blows her paycheck long before she sees any cash out of it. “The valet thought we were sisters,” my mother giggles. “He must have been drinking,” she adds, her hand to her throat.

You must have been drinking, I want to tell her. Instead, I say, “I don’t blame him you two do look like sisters. What did you buy?” I’m friendly, interested, eager to see the spoils. I can tell Amity doesn’t trust it, but my mother is thrilled to model the spoils.

Amity joins with my mother to show off the skirts, blouses, cocktail dresses, and two Bob Mackie beaded gowns off the rack. “I know it’s over-the-top,” my mother says, “but hell, why should those gals in Hollywood get all the good stuff? And guess what? We have something to wear them to: your engagement party in Wichita, which is next month at the Oilmen’s Club downtown! We’ve booked a Saturday evening the first time they’ve allowed a private party to reserve the entire place on a weekend in the entire history of the club!”

Amity winks at me, like isn’t she adorable? She takes her wine off the mantel and starts to take a sip. I walk over and take the

glass from her hand. She smiles, but looks uncertain, wondering what comes next. I smile a huge mouthful of teeth, take a lusty swallow of her wine, and say, “Bravo, Mother! Amity and I are so lucky to have you!” I put my arm around Amity and kiss her on the cheek. And I look her in the eyes and wink back let her know we’re in this game together. She searches my gaze to see if the wedding is on and everything is going forward. I nod, and she nods in return. I realize how comfortable she is when playing a role. I decide the timing is good to continue. “I know you don’t want to dwell on this, so I’ll make it brief.” I hand Amity her wine and walk steadily to the middle of the room, where I formally address the two women. “It’s over between Nicolo and me. He wanted nothing to do with me. never to see me again. And though I admit I was wounded, I realized that he was actually saving my life. Saving it for Amity and the future for which we’re intended. This is the only time I’ll bring it up. I just want you to know I’m headed on the right course now, and none of us has to worry that I’ll deviate again.” I have to choke the word out for my mother’s benefit, but I do it.

My mother, tears in her drunken eyes, raises her wineglass. I approach Amity, hold my hand upon hers, and raise our glass together. “Salud!”

CHAPTER

TWENTY

ver the next few weeks, Amity goes back and forth to her i wedding gown fittings on her Vespa scooter, the one my mother had imported for her. Every time Amity steps into her stirrup pants, ties a scarf on her head, slips on her Ray Bans, and whirrs off on that scooter, I want to get into my car and run her down. She sabotaged my relationship with Nicolo, and now she’s playing me perfectly by encouraging me to patch it up with him and offering her complicity if I want to secretly see him, she won’t tell my mother. She assures me she never told my mother anything other than that I have a friend named Nicolo. She reminds me that Susan had been calling us repeatedly and that I had been avoiding her calls, true. And when she resorted to calling Amity’s number in order to find me, Amity told her I was out with my friend Nicolo. That’s all.

I can just imagine how she’d put it. “He probably hasn’t had time to call you, Susan, because he spends all his time with Nicolo.” Followed by a heavy sigh. And that’s all it would take to start an investigation by my mother.

The night after I waited for him on his porch, I went to see him at the restaurant and followed him from table to table. “Nicolo,

listen to me please!” I begged on his heels, publicly humiliating myself.

“Congratulations,” he told me, serving a man his steak.

“Thanks,” the gentleman said, not knowing what he was being congratulated for. “But you forgot my baked potato.”

“He’s talking to me,” I explained to the steak eater, “but he doesn’t really mean it.”

“How is everything here?” Nicolo asked, rushing over to another table.

Before anyone could comment on their food I answered, “Everything is terrible! I need to explain myself.” “More ice water?” Nicolo inquired. “In your veins,” I told him.

“But not in my cup!” the woman patron gasped as he poured water into her wine.

He went to the kitchen and picked up an order for two that was waiting: salmon in some kind of caper sauce and a huge piece of prime rib. I grabbed a baked potato and threw it on a small plate.