Amanda was dressed in a plain navy blue suit and light blue blouse. When she and Roy met me in the parking lot she squeezed my hand. Her freshly showered smell engulfed my brain, but I kept a safe distance. Roy was scrubbed pink and somber in a charcoal-gray suit. He carried about fifty pounds more than he needed, but it looked like it had settled there permanently. His receding hair was combed straight back. His handshake was warm and dry. Before letting go he added another hand. That drew us into closer proximity than I would have chosen on my own. I could smell the same soap as Amanda’s.
“We want to thank you for letting us know about this,” he said to me. “Regina was a good friend of Amanda’s mother.”
She nodded in agreement.
“She didn’t know too many people.”
“We lost Amanda’s mother last year. It’s very difficult,” he said, looking at her gravely.
“Sorry about the short notice.”
He waved off the comment.
“Not at all. We completely understand.”
One of the ushers herded us out of the waiting room and into another room that looked about the same except for the coffin and some funereal flower arrangements. Jimmy Maddox was hanging back, like he’d rather stay in the waiting room, but I gripped him by the shoulder and said, “Come on, man.”
I had trouble concentrating on what the priest was saying. They always had that effect on me. As soon as I see vestments and big silver candelabras my mind starts roaming all over the place. I got that from my mother. She hated organized religion, even though every Sunday she’d drag me and my sister to the Polish church in the Village. When I was about ten, she just stopped, never saying why. I never asked, afraid a show of interest would start her up again. So I was left with the memory of singsong Latin monotones and my mother fidgeting and snorting away in the pew. Great job of indoctrination.
The priest said something about the mortal remains of the dead, giving me an unwanted image of old Regina carved up on the autopsy table.
A rumble of low voices came from the back of the room. It was Barbara Filmore. She was wearing a suit made of car upholstery, accented by a black feather thing wrapped around her throat. A veiled hat sat on the top of her hairdo and her glasses low on her nose. The bulge of her midriff drew attention to her thin legs, conjuring the image of an overdressed waterfowl.
She had a bald-headed, roundish guy with a salt and pepper mustache for an escort. He looked bored but attentive. He had those pale beige patent leather shoes and matching belt sets you see in Florida, but rarely around this part of the East End. He wore a light blue guayabera shirt and wrinkle-free beige pants made of some long- chain polymer. I guessed him to be about ten years older than me.
They disturbed the calm of the room for a few minutes before settling down. The priest sent up a few more requests for the Almighty to look after Regina in the hereafter. I prayed for the whole thing to be over.
A pair of Pappanasta’s boys came in and hauled her out of there after the priest finally wrapped up his bit. They looked well-dressed and professional, like IRS agents or the guys I used to work with from Accounting & Finance. They seemed to be old pals of the priest’s—probably got together a lot after a gig.
Nobody in the room was crying, which I deeply appreciated. Sunlight did nice things with all the flowers I’d ordered up for the occasion. They looked fresh and expensive, which didn’t surprise me. Andy always used quality toppings on his pizzas. A matter of principle.
The congregation was forced to talk to each other after the priest said hello, handed out a few banalities, then made a run for it. Probably had a seat warming up for him somewhere. Roy and Jimmy Maddox were stuck with the old folks. I was with Amanda, Barbara Filmore and her date.
“We’ve had quite the schedule at the Center lately, Mr. Acquillo,” said Barbara. “I expected a visit.”
“Been pretty tied up.”
“Oh,” she said, as if suddenly remembering there was a guy standing next to her, “this is Bob Sobol. This is Sam Acquillo.”
“How’re you doin’?” he said absently, looking past my shoulder at the sun and fresh air blowing in from an open door. His grip hurt, which surprised me a little.
“Bob is thinking about buying property out here. He’s staying with me. Maybe you could tell him what you know about the area, investment-wise—you’ve owned out here for some time, haven’t you?”
“I inherited.”
Bob didn’t seem to care either way.
“Bob also has retirement to consider, so it has to be livable,” said Barbara, leadingly. She looked at Bob for a little help.
“I like the area,” said Bob, finally relenting. There was a touch of the Bronx in his accent, the one I knew as a kid.
“I know some good real-estate people I can refer you to,” said Amanda.
The two of them stared at her till she put out her hand.
“I’m Amanda Battiston. Regina was a friend of my mother’s.”
“Is that
“It is,” she said brightly.
On cue, Roy came up behind her and stuck his out as well.
“Roy Battiston,” he said.
“My mother was Julia Anselma,” said Amanda. Barbara perked up.
“Of course, I’m very sorry.” She turned toward Bob. “Amanda’s mother was a regular at the Center. She also passed away recently.”
Barbara placed a blocking shoulder in front of Bob so he couldn’t move closer to Amanda. He didn’t seem to notice, or care.
“That’d be nice of you, Mrs. Battiston. I haven’t found an agent I like.”
“These folks are very likable. At least to me.”
“Long’s they’re good,” said Bob.
“Yes, they’re good, too. Good and likable.”
Bob pursed his mouth and acted convinced.
“Maybe you could show me where some of the better areas are, Mrs. Battiston. You must know your way around pretty good, being a native.”
“Most people out here aren’t natives.”
“But I guessed maybe you were.”
“I didn’t know it showed.”
He shrugged as a type of sympathy for her shortcomings.
“How about financing?” he asked. “I could use some tips there, too.”
Roy dove right in.
“Absolutely, Bob. Come see me at Harbor Trust. Always there to help.”
I started looking around for Jimmy Maddox. Maybe the two of us could go find a piece of heavy equipment to play with.
“But surely you could help me find a place, Mrs. Battiston,” said Bob.
“Amanda. I can point you in the right direction,” she said sprightly.
“Should I get a pencil?”
Barbara Filmore’s smile stayed put as her mood took a right turn.
“I’m sure Amanda has plenty to do already.”
“Actually, I do, but I promise to keep my eyes and ears open.”
Bob gave a curt little nod that reminded me of Claude Rains. I thought he was going to click his heels together.
“You must be so busy looking after your mother’s things,” said Barbara, putting a little meat on Amanda’s excuse. “I’ve been through it myself, so I know.” She hooked her oversized pocketbook on her shoulder and slid the other hand through Bob’s arm. He didn’t put up much of a fight when she tugged him gently toward the door.
“I’m so sorry about your mother. And Regina, of course. Two friends, so close together.”
“They weren’t all that close,” said Amanda, spoiling the mannerly mood.
