“Patsy,” Sissy said. “Are you here to buy fish?”
“No,” Patsy said, looking embarrassed. “I came to see you. I feel awful about the other day—”
“It doesn’t matter. Really,” Sissy said, looking apologetic. “I know how things are now.” Then she turned away because Dad was handing over his card.
Patsy stood there for another thirty seconds or so, looking stricken, then left. I went downstairs to help Dad carry the equipment out without making eye contact with Sissy. I acted like I’d forgotten she was there.
Dad and I hit a diner for a three o’clock lunch, and then he drove me home. It was time for him to get back to work. So far as I could tell, he was happy when he was driving.
“Why didn’t you ever do this before, Dad?”
“Drive a taxi?” He looked over at me. “Or you mean, get a regular job?”
I felt stupid. “I don’t mean it like that, exactly. Just, this seems to suit you.”
“We weren’t short of money, Vinnie. And I thought your mother and I were all right. With everything. I liked being the one who stayed home. She liked that I was. Mostly.”
Neither one of us said anything for a minute. I wanted to apologize, but that might have made it worse. I said, “You ought to put up some posters around the apartment, you know? Brighten it up.”
“I’ll help you carry the tank to the back door, Vinnie,” Dad said, turning onto the block where I lived now.
“I’ve got it,” I told him.
He stopped the taxi in front of the house. He helped me with the load, setting it onto the driveway while I trucked stuff to the door. When the trunk was empty, I said, “I’ll donkey the rest of it.”
Patsy came out then, wearing that peacoat again. She appeared to be surprised to see us outside. She gave us an uncertain smile and took off down the sidewalk, walking away with a brisk step.
“Friend of yours?” Dad asked.
“We ride the same bus.” Impersonal, that’s how I tried to sound. I don’t know that I made it.
Dad clapped me on the arm. “Nice scenery you have in this neighborhood.” And he got into the taxi. When he was lucky, he picked up a fare for the trip back.
“Anthony!” she said, like she was greeting an old friend.
“Anthony?” It caught me by surprise. A point for her.
“No?”
“No,” I said, understanding. “And you mean Antonio.”
“Maybe you’re the wrong guy. You want to say something obscene?”
“I told you. That was a mistake.”
“What does your dad do?”
Safe territory. “He’s an actor.”
“Yeah?”
“He’s not famous. Mostly, he does commercials.”
“Will I have seen any?”
“There’s a dog food commercial running now.” I wished I’d changed it to breakfast cereal, I look a lot like my dad.
“Tell me something else about yourself.”
“I’m shy,” I said.
“Uh-huh. Athletic?”
Careful here, I thought.
Remembering Mr. B’s recent enthusiasm, I said, “Skiing.”
“Skiing is sexy.”
“Skiing is a one-way ticket to frostbite and a runny nose.”
She laughed. “You’re cute, Aldo.”
“Now, that you can’t be sure of. And one name per call.”
“One letter per call, that’s our rule. I can try as many names as I like.”
Our rule. I liked the sound of that. “We’ll see.”
“Very in charge, are you?”
“I’m the only one with a number to call,” I said.
“I think you’re short and you have an inferiority complex, Andreo.”
“Italian is not French with an o at the end.”
“I bet you get good grades.”
My gut tightened. “Sometimes.”
“So you’re in my classes?”
“Not.”
“You’re sure?”
“There must be dozens of guys in your classes. Why would I need to lie about that?”
No answer.
I breathed a little easier. I said, “Don’t go away mad.”
“I’m not going away.”
“You always go away. I just have to say something dirty.”
“So go ahead, say it.”
I didn’t speak.
“Say it!”
I whispered, “Filthy, filthy, filthy.”
She hung up.
I laughed, I couldn’t help it.