'Because when you're with him, people laugh at you, too.'
'Like I give a shit.'
'He's a compulsive liar, wears the same clothes for weeks at a time and has breath that usually makes my eyes tear. He's in his forties and still can't hold a job, borrows money from us constantly – usually amounts we can't afford to lend him in the first place – and never pays a cent of it back. And if that's not enough, whenever he's around, I catch him staring at my tits and scratching himself like a pervert.'
Frank smiled. 'Well, I can't fault him there.'
'I'm glad you think it's so funny.'
'Oh, for Christ's sake, Sandy, he's harmless.'
'He makes me uncomfortable.'
'Name a friend of mine you do like.'
Sandy dismissed him with a wave of her hand the way one might swat away a bothersome mosquito. 'Find some likeable friends.'
Frank sat on the edge of the bed. 'If there's anybody who shouldn't be talking about friends, it's you.'
'What's that supposed to mean?'
'How about Diane?'
'I'm listening.' She crossed her arms, crushing her breasts together into a swell of cleavage Frank found impossible to ignore. He seemed attracted to her at the oddest times.
'A summer breeze could blow her legs open.'
Sandy winced and continued to fuss with her hair. 'Just because she's been with a few guys doesn't – '
'A few?'
' – make her a whore.'
Frank knew he should let it slide but just couldn't. 'Okay,' he said with a smile, 'let's talk about Tina Two- Tons.'
'Stop calling her that.'
'She's got an ass on her the size of a Buick, and struts around in tight little skirts you probably couldn't even fit into, and you're talking about people pointing and laughing? Gimme a break, freakin' hippo in high heels.'
Sandy suppressed a giggle. 'You convince Gus to lose the wig and I'll drag Tina to the plus-size store. How's that?'
Frank glanced at the digital clock on the bureau. 'You're going to be late for work.'
She threw off her robe and reached onto the bed for her bra and panties. Frank watched her slip them on, certain that the only thing sexier than watching her undress was watching her maneuver into underwear.
'We don't have time.'
'Not even a quickie?'
'What do you want for dinner?' she asked, moving to the closet.
'I won't be home. I told you, I'm going to Providence.'
She plucked a short black skirt from a hanger and held it up in front of her, inspecting it carefully for creases or lint. 'Oh.'
Frank found cigarettes in his shirt pocket and lit one. 'I'll be home tomorrow, probably early afternoon.'
Sandy stepped into the skirt, zipped up the back and smoothed it down along the front of her thighs. 'Please don't do anything stupid, okay?'
'But I had a whole bunch of stupid shit planned.'
She turned, pulled the cigarette from his lips and took a drag. 'Just promise me, Frank.'
'It's only a meeting.'
'I don't understand why you have to do this in the first place.' She returned the cigarette to his mouth. 'You've already got a good job.'
'Then I must be going to the wrong place every morning.'
'It's not so horrible.'
'Yeah, it is.'
Sandy pulled on an attractive silk blouse, buttoned it. 'It's a secure, decent paying career. That's a lot more than most people have these days.'
'Selling refrigerators and stoves all day isn't a career. It's a job. There's a difference.'
Her eyes found his. 'Like the difference between being broke and having money?'
'We both work forty-five, fifty hours a week, for what? So we can drive used cars, go to the movies once a week and live in this shoebox?'
Sandy took the cigarette from him again. 'I happen to like my job. I happen to like my car. I happen to like the movies. I even like this apartment.'
'I hope so, because at this rate we'll be living here the rest of our lives.'
'You're so dramatic. What do you think you're going to be, Frank? You think you can just wake up one morning and decide to be a big shot? Life doesn't work like that. You have to learn to settle for the blessings God gave you.'
Frank shook his head, wondered how he and the woman he had chosen to spend his life with could be so diametrically opposed on such basic points. They'd been married for three years now, had it always been like this?
'I want to be happy.'
She arched an eyebrow. 'You're unhappy?'
'I love you,' Frank said. 'I just want to try to do something that'll make getting out of bed in the morning worth it.'
'Then stay where you are and work as hard as you can. In another three or four years I'm sure Pearson will retire and they'll make you store manager.'
'I'll try to contain my excitement.'
'You've got a lousy attitude, Frank. That's always been your problem. You're bright, nice-looking, and you have a lot of talent. But you've got this huge chip on your shoulder, and it holds you back.'
'I want us to have a better life. Now's the time to take a chance, while we're still young.'
Sandy stepped into a pair of black pumps. 'You're twenty-eight years old. The only thing it's time to do is grow up.'
'Just because you go through life with blinders on, don't expect me to.'
'Whatever,' she snapped. 'I've got to get going.'
Frank nodded wearily. Sandy's heels clicked against the kitchen floor as she crossed the apartment, and he knew she'd leave without so much as a kiss or another word. When Sandy was fed up, she disappeared. Just like that.
The door slammed, and Frank's thoughts turned immediately to Providence.
Paulie Caruso had once been one of the most influential and powerful professional wrestling promoters in the country. From the late fifties to the late seventies he'd controlled all the action from the northern-most point in Maine, to the tip of Cape Cod. Known for being nearly as flamboyant as many of his wrestlers, Caruso was a squat, bulbous man who never left the house without his oversized fedora, steel-toed cowboy boots and remarkably cheap linen suits. Were it not for his wide, constant smiles and jovial manner, his fleshly face and deep-seated eyes would have been intimidating.
With control slipping to younger, better-financed rivals and his health waning, Paulie retired from the business in 1978 and turned things over to his son, Raymond, who managed to lose in two years everything his father had spent a lifetime building. Even once his heyday had come and gone, Paulie was still spoken of fondly and extended respect by those in the business. Raymond, on the other hand, considered useless, was shunned.
Frank was seven years old the first time he met Paulie, and had been even more impressed with him than he was with the show. Frank's father and Paulie were childhood friends who had grown up in the same neighborhood in New Bedford, and although they had taken vastly different career paths, they remained casual friends over the years.
