Four

I leaned back in my chair, drained my wine, and read the cover of the Regina Pizza box. The cover told the story of the Oldest Pizza House in New England. New York had nothing on Regina.

I flipped the box open and surveyed the pie chart inside. The chart told the sad tale that six-eighths of the pizza had been eaten. Adriana, Catherine, and I had eaten two slices each. Maria had refused to leave her room.

I reached for a slice. Adriana slapped my hand.

“Ow!”

“That’s for Maria.”

“Both of them?”

“She’s going to be hungry. Don’t be a pig.”

I poured some more wine. “One for the road.”

“Road? What road?”

“The road back to the South End.”

“You’re not going back to the South End until we finish these phone calls.”

“Seriously? Tonight?”

“Yeah, tonight. We’re calling every parent and apologizing.”

“But it’s seven o’clock. They’re going to be cleaning up after dinner.”

“Yeah, then they’ll be watching TV and going to bed. When do you want to call them? Midnight?”

“I don’t want to call them at all.”

Catherine handed out three lists. “It’s only eight calls each.”

“What do I say?”

“Don’t be a baby,” said Adriana. She took her list and retreated to the living room. Catherine took her list and headed for the bedroom. That left me in the kitchen alone with my phone, a bottle of wine, and forbidden pizza. I poured a little more wine into my half-full glass. Drank it back to half. Dialed the number next to Carter. A guy picked up.

“Hello, Mr. Carter? My name is Aloysius Tucker.”

“Who?”

“Aloysius Tucker.”

“Never heard of you.”

“No. No, you wouldn’t have.”

“What kind of name is Aloysius? Is this a joke?”

“I’m Maria’s cousin.”

“Maria? Maria who?”

“Maria Rizzo.”

“I don’t know any Maria Rizzo.”

A woman’s voice screeched in the background. The receiver got muffled, probably pressed to a chest. A bass-and-treble discussion ensued, sounding like an argument between two adults in a Charlie Brown cartoon. The phone was unmuffled.

“Maria Rizzo?” a woman said. An angry woman.

“Uh, yes. I’m her cousin.”

“Your cousin is a horrible little girl.”

“I think horrible is a bit strong.”

“After what she did?”

“It wasn’t her. Someone hacked her Facebook account.”

“Facebook account? What do I care about her Facebook account?”

“What I mean to say is, she didn’t put the porn on Michael’s page.”

“Michael? Michael isn’t on Facebook.”

I looked at my computer screen, at Michael Carter’s profile picture. “Um. Maybe he never told you?”

“Michael’s not on Facebook, and he doesn’t look at porn. He’s ten years old.”

I decided not to argue that point. “I was just calling to apologize.”

“For Facebook porn.”

“Uh, yeah. Maria’s really sorry.”

“Is she really sorry for making Michael cry in class?”

“Huh?”

“Is she sorry for calling him an ‘asshat’ during his science presentation?”

“I’m sure she is.”

“Don’t call here again.” The old-fashioned handset clattered as Mrs. Carter smashed it into an old-fashioned cradle.

Asshat? Where did Maria pick that up?

Fellini next. Dialed the phone, got the mom, introduced myself.

“Your cousin is a degenerate,” said Mrs. Fellini.

“To be fair, her Facebook account was hacked.”

“Sure. Hacked, my eye.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Hackers can’t guess a password on Facebook. She gave someone her password.”

“Yes … because …”

“Aha! I knew it. She got some older kid to put porn on poor Stella’s Facebook page.”

“No, she didn’t know—”

“Lesbian porn, no less. That’s disgusting.”

“Hey, listen—”

“Why are you calling?”

“To apologize.”

“Why aren’t her parents calling?”

I paused a beat. Told her. That shut her up for a second.

“I knew that,” said Mrs. Fellini.

“Then why did you ask?”

“Why isn’t one of her moms calling?”

“We split up the job.”

“What are you? Like the father?”

“No, I’m—” What am I, anyway?

“Because I think she needs a father.”

“Thanks for your advice.”

“She’s been terrible. A real brat.”

“And so she needs a father to straighten her out?”

“She called Stella fat. She body-shamed her.”

It was my turn to be shut up for a second.

Mrs. Fellini continued, “She used to be such a nice girl.”

“She’s been through a lot.”

“I know,” said Mrs. Fellini. “Good night. Thank you for the apology.”

“I am sorry.”

“I hope you can get her what she needs.” Mrs. Fellini closed the call.

She used to be such a nice girl.

Adriana’s voice rose from the living room. “Still, we are sorry.”

Catherine’s muffled voice wafted out of the bedroom. “She called him a what? Oh my God.”

I looked at my list. Georgiani was next. What fresh insight would the Georgianis provide? I called. Learned that Maria had put a bug in their Isabella’s milk. Called Harris. Learned that Maria had called little Wade a “retard.”

Incaviglia, Jones, Laramie, Mathews. Each had a tale of horror regarding Maria. Five were sure she’d put the porn there herself and just blamed a hacker. Two more said that she needed a father. All agreed that Maria used to be very nice, but not anymore.

Maria’s door remained closed. Maybe she was asleep. Maybe she was plotting some other prank. Maybe she was crying. A dark shadow of failure filled the room. Adriana, Catherine, and I were failing, but it seemed to be mostly me.

I focused on the claim that Maria had put the porn there herself. That she hadn’t been life ruined, but had decided to ruin some lives. Her refusal to help me find her hacker gave me pause. Could she have done that? Found the porn, put it up all over?

There was only one way to know for sure. Find the hacker myself, or find that there never was a hacker.

Adriana’s voice rose in the living room. “Because it’s important! When? Nine o’clock? Fine.”

Adriana stalked into the kitchen. I drank down a slug of my wine. The pizza looked like cardboard.

“Don’t drink too much,” she said.

“Why?”

“You don’t want to have a hangover in the morning.”

“What’s in the morning?”

“We’re going to see Gustav’s mother.”