Lucie sat at her mother's dining room table, her laptop open in front of her, researching Gomez paintings. After overhearing Bart Owens' argument, a niggling feeling of him being involved in something crooked wouldn't leave her. For the Lutz's sake, she decided a little research on that painting was necessary.
Across the table, Mom was dressed in a plain white T-shirt and lightweight modern cargo pants. Her poker night outfit. She liked the extra side pockets for holding her chips. She sat quietly, hand-stitching a sample faux fur vest for one of the Ninja Bitches to test. If Mom and Ro could get the design on the first one right, they'd pitch a line of fur accessories to Frampton's Department Store, their largest client.
The front door—one of those vintage oak ones that weighed slightly less than a ton—flew open and smacked against the inside wall. Lucie flinched and Mom's entire body jerked.
"Ow!" Mom dropped the vest and shook her hand out. "Stuck myself."
Ro's dramatic entrances were nothing new, but one day, she'd give someone in the Rizzo family a heart attack.
"Ro!" Lucie said. "You just bludgeoned my mother."
Stomping toward them in a micro mini, a tank top, and her typical mile-high strappy sandals, Ro went straight to Mom, threw her arms around her and started bawling. "I'm sorry."
Lucie wasn't one to swear, but crap. Ro. Crying? "Ro, it's not that big of a deal. Just take it easy next time."
"There, there," Mom cooed, rubbing Ro's back. "It was just a little stick."
Still sobbing, Ro straightened up, grabbed a piece of loose silk Lucie had bought from the overpriced-but-worth-it fabric store in Lincoln Park and blew her nose on it.
Had she lost her mind? "Hello? That was silk. Do you know what that stuff costs?"
"I'll pay you back. After I get my settlement check from my stripper-banging husband."
"No!" Mom said.
Ro wailed again. "Yes! I'm done. He expects me to pretend like nothing happened. Like he didn't humiliate me in front of an entire town. All for his re-election. If he'd act the least bit sorry, maybe I could stand by him. He's only sorry he got caught."
The back door slammed. Again nothing new because Joey slammed every door he walked through. Between him and Ro, they'd take the whole house down.
He rushed into the room arms up and ready for battle, his head swinging left and right. "What the hell? Sounds like a goddamn slaughter."
"Joseph," Mom said. "Language."
"It is a slaughter!"
Ro. Heavy on the drama.
Joey looked at Lucie, nudged his head in Ro's direction. "What's that about?"
"She and Tommy." Not wanting to say the word divorce and risk more wailing, Lucie slashed her hand across her throat.
"She's dumping him? My odds just hit nine to five the other way."
"Whaaaaaaa," Ro wailed.
"Joseph!" This from Mom. "Leave. Now. Go to your room."
This place is an asylum. Twenty-nine years old and his mother was sending him to his room.
Rushing around the table, Lucie wrapped her friend in a hug and flipped Joey the bird behind Mom's back. What an idiot.
He held up his hands. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You're right. Priorities. Ro, you want me to kick his ass? I'd do that for you."
Finally. Some concern about their friend. This was the Joey she adored. Idiot or not, sometimes, in his own fatalistic way, he could be sweet and protective. Apparently, Ro responded to that because she pulled away from Lucie, turned to face Joey, and threw herself into his arms.
"I know you would," she said. "But no. If I'm taking him to the cleaners, I have to be the loyal wife to pull it off. I've been so good to him and this is what he does to me? I can't believe it. The bastard."
At which point, totally behind Mom's back, Joey grinned at Lucie, slid his hand over Ro's butt cheek and squeezed.
As expected, because Joey knew Ro just as well as Lucie, if not better considering their sexual—blech—history, Ro snorted. Her brother had known just what to do to make Ro smile.
"God, you're a pig," she said.
Mom spun around. "What did he do?"
"Nothing," they all said.
"I made her laugh though."
Ro gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek then ran her fingers under her eyes. Her makeup was already destroyed, but she didn't need to know that. Why make things worse?
"Yes, you did," she said. "Thank you."
"Ooh," Mom said. "It's almost seven. It's poker night. I need to go."
Joey put his hand out to help Mom from her chair. "I'll walk you."
"It's half a block and still light out. Knock it off. Who's going to attack me on this block?"
"Hey, you never know."
"Leave her alone," Lucie said. "She'll be fine. No one is crazy enough to bother her. Of all people. Between you and Dad, they'd be numbskulls to try it."
Her brother pondered that. "All right. I'll watch you from the sidewalk. But it'll be late when you come home. I'll pick you up."
Mom let out a frustrated laugh. "I love you, but when your father comes home, you need to move out. I'll never survive the two of you."
"Uh, speaking of…"
Everyone in the room stopped moving. Just bam, frozen. Speaking of what? Moving out? Could that mean...?
Lucie gawked. "You're moving out?"
And then, shocker of all shockers, her brother nodded. "Yeah. I mean, with Dad coming home, Mom doesn't need me anymore. And Frankie's got that empty third floor flat at his house."
Two issues here. One, Lucie would be alone with her father and her mother. After Dad being gone two years and her mother proclaiming her newfound independence, there was no telling the drama that would unfold inside this nineteen-hundred-square-foot house. Two, her brother was moving in with Frankie. It shouldn't have surprised her. They'd been friends—best friends—since grammar school. But—wow—if the lines weren't already blurred, they sure were now. As long as she and Frankie were broken up, she couldn't visit. Visiting meant walking past Frankie's apartment, a place she'd spent countless nights watching television, having dinner, making love. Each time she'd wonder what was going on inside. Whether he had a woman in there. Whether he was making love to someone else.
Oh. My. God.
"You're moving into Frankie's?"
"Oh, boy," Ro said.
Joey shrugged. "Why not?"
Mom stared up at him, her mouth partway open and her hazel eyes more than a little stricken. Lucie hadn't seen this look since Dad got convicted.
But she knew from conversations with Frankie that the only reason Joey still lived at home was because he didn't want Mom to not have a man around to help with the household stuff. That and, well, she always had a meal ready and his laundry done. That didn't matter though. Chances were, she'd still do the cooking and laundry for him wherever he lived.
But make no mistake, Joey had unintentionally just broken their mother's heart.
Lucie tore her gaze away from Mom and went back to Joey. "When did you decide this? I just talked to him today and he didn't say anything."
"I asked him not to. I wanted to tell you guys. Luce, you've been a little—" Joey waggled his hand, "—whackadoo lately. I wanted to be sure Dad was coming home before I said anything."
Mom held out a shaky hand. "Joseph, I was kidding. You don't have to move out."
"I know, Ma. But it's time. I'm twenty-nine years old and I can afford it. I gotta go. I'm sorry."
Being the trooper she was, Mom waved that off. "Don't you dare apologize for living your life. If this is what you want, then you should do it."
"It is."
Finally, she stood, held her arms out, and her mountain of a son hugged her, holding on for a few seconds while Mom sniffled away unshed tears. "I'll miss you." She backed away and nodded. "You drive me crazy, but I'll miss you."
Joey hit her with the Joey smile that always got him out of trouble. "I'll still come by to eat."
And probably bring his laundry.
"Of course you will."
As she always did in times of crisis or heartbreak or just about anything that rocked her world, Mom lifted her chin, tugged on the hem of her shirt and faced Lucie and Ro. "I'm off to poker. You three behave."
"Will do, Mom."
Mom left and Lucie, desperate to be rid of the idea of Frankie having other women in his bed, turned to Ro. "Back to the issue that started this whole thing. Are you okay?"
"Yeah. I just needed to get it out of my system. You know me, I'll survive." Ro gestured to the laptop. "What are you working on?"
"I'm researching Gomez paintings."
"Who?" Joey asked.
"Gomez. The artist who did the painting the Lutzes bought from the gallery."
"That's an ugly-ass painting."
Her brother. The art critic. "It's a matter of taste."
"Bad taste."
Ro snorted. Great. Now she was encouraging him. "Don't start, you two. This is important."
"Why?"
"Well, you know our new dog walker?"
Ro nodded. "Lauren, right? How's she working out?"
Lucie held her crossed fingers up. "So far so good. She's a little nosey though. Yesterday she was all over Mr. L.'s painting. Today, we overheard Bart Owens arguing with an artist. Lauren couldn't stop speculating on what the argument was over."
"Something good?"
"I don't know. They were going at it though. It sounded like Bart lent someone named Robert's paintings to a gallery and now can't get them back."
"Luce," Joey said, "you gotta stay out of this crap. It's not your business."
In a way, it was. Her brother just didn't know it. "Just hang on with me for a second. Lauren said she kinda remembered something weird about how the Gomez paintings were sold."
"So?"
"So, after hearing him argue with this artist today, I figured I'd research Gomez paintings. Last thing I need is Mr. Lutz getting swindled after I hooked him up with Bart."
"Oh, no," Joey said.
Ignoring him, Lucie moved back to her laptop and pointed at the screen. "I found a Michigan gallery that sells Gomez's paintings. His will dictates that the gallery is the only one with permission to sell his work. Apparently, the owner allowed him to show his paintings there when he was a nobody."
"Wha… what?" Joey said. "Why are we talking about this?"
Ro shot him one of her hairy eyeball looks. "Shut up, Joey. Ignore him, Luce."
Gladly. "I took a finder's fee for the painting—a Gomez—that Bart Owens sold to Mr. Lutz."
"So?"
She'd like to smack that giant head of his.
"Well, smart-ass, Lauren wondered if the painting might be a copy. A fake. If it is, Mr. Lutz got scammed by Bart Owens. And I helped."
"Oh, boo-effing-hoo," Joey said. "Maybe the painting is real."
If she didn't murder her brother, it would be a miracle. "Okay, fine. Let's say the painting is legit. If Bart didn't get it from the Michigan gallery, I've accidentally brokered an illegal deal. Either way," Lucie flopped one hand out, then the other, shifted them up and down like scales, "I'm going to jail for fraud."