Chapter 93

Krupsky and Iris are starting to tango. Late last week, Emma came over and was introduced to Frank. They actually get along. Emma speaks six languages. She’s teaching him Russian and Polish, just in case he wants to tour with Margot’s book. They’re out in the atrium every day.

We’ve been going over there some evenings ourselves. The studio has a decent sized tango floor. Krupsky’s set up lanes with chalk, showing us how to move up and down the room. Frank sticks his head in every now and then. Emma even got him out tangoing a few times. “Look Iris,” he said, “it’s a piece of cake,” and promptly fell on his ass. Sometimes, when we finish up, Frank takes Krupsky outside for a cigar. I’ve given up smoking altogether. “I’m glad you’ve stopped,” Mary says on the way home.

Muller and Judy still play Scrabble, but they don’t argue anymore. Muller can use all the proper names he wants. Judy’s face is this bright pink, the color of motherhood. As soon as the baby comes, they want to start tangoing again. “Muller’s going to get fat otherwise,” Judy says. He’s already fat, but he’s her Big Bear. The rest of the crowd misses him, or his brownies. On our way to a house on Evergreen Avenue, Ruby said, “He grows on you, doesn’t he, Sam? Just like Otis.” Krupsky put Otis’s arm in a sling the other night. Otis pulled something doing that stupid windmill dance.

We’ve got a long day ahead of us. It’s outdoor work, but now it’s getting warmer. I can’t wait to get on the ladder. I like being up there with the bees. I’ve also bought an iPod and downloaded some songs. I sing along, making Max look at me funny. I’m probably off key, but I move with my brush, hitting high notes with an upward stroke. “You missed a spot,” Max says.

“Where?”

“Over by the corner.”

“I’ll get it on the next coat.”

“You’re pretty tone deaf, you know.”

“I’m holding a loaded brush, Max.”

“Who’re you listening to?”

“Tony Bennett.”

“Isn’t he dead?”

“He’s doing fine, Max.”

“What is he?” Max says, “A hundred or something?”

“He’s not a hundred.”

“How old is he then?”

“I don’t know, Max. We don’t celebrate each other’s birthdays.”