'You ate everything. And you ate it with gravy.'
'I did it for the baby.'
'Well, something went wrong because only seven pounds went to the baby, and you got the rest.'
'I don't know how to get rid of it. I've never been fat before.'
'You should talk to Lula. She's good at losing weight.'
'If she's so good at losing weight, why is she so big?'
'She's also good at gaining weight. She gains it. She loses it. She gains it. She loses it.'
'The wedding is on Saturday. If I really worked at it, do you think I could lose sixty pounds between now and Saturday?'
'I guess you could have it sucked out, but I hear that's real painful and you get a lot of bruising.'
'I hate my life,' Val said.
'Really?'
'No. I just hate being fat.'
'That doesn't mean you should hate Albert. He didn't make you fat.'
'I know. I've been awful to him, and he's such an adorable oogie woogams.'
'I think it's great that you're in love, Val. And I'm happy for you... I really am. But the baby talk cuddle umpkins oogie woogams thing is making me a little barfy warfy. What about the Virgin Mary, Val? Remember when everyone said you were just like the Virgin Mary? You were cool and serene like the Virgin Mary, like a big pink plaster statue of the Virgin. Would the Virgin refer to God as her cuddle umpkins? I don't think so.'
The next call was to my cousin Linda at the DMV. 'I need some information,'
I said to Linda. 'Benny Gorman, Michael Barroni, Louis Lazar. I want to know if they got a new car in the last three months and what kind?'
'I heard you quit working for Vinnie. So what's up with the names?'
'Part-time job. Routine credit check for CBNJ.' I had no idea what CBNJ stood for, but it sounded good, right?
I could hear Linda type the names into her computer. 'Here's Barroni,' she said. 'He bought a Honda Accord two weeks ago. Nothing on Gorman. And nothing's coming up on Lazar.'
'Thanks. I appreciate it.'
'Boy, the wedding's almost here. I guess everyone's real excited.'
'Yeah. Valerie's a wreck.'
'That's the way it is with weddings,' Linda said.
I disconnected and took a moment to enjoy my coffee. I liked sitting in Morelli's office. It wasn't especially pretty, but it felt nice because it was filled with all the bits and pieces of Morelli's life. I didn't have an office in my apartment. And maybe that was a good thing because I was afraid if I had an office it might be empty. I didn't have a hobby. I didn't play sports. I had a family, but I never got around to framing pictures. I wasn't learning a foreign language, or learning to play the cello, or learning to be a gourmet cook.
Well hell, I thought. I could just pick one of those things. There's no reason why I can't be interesting and have an office filled with stuff. I can collect tennis balls in the park. And I can get a plant and let it die.
And I can play the damn cello. In fact, I could probably be a terrific cello player.
I took my coffee mug downstairs and put it in the dishwasher. I grabbed my bag and my jacket. I yelled goodbye to Bob as I was going out the door. And I set off on foot for my parents' house. I was going to borrow Uncle Sandors Buick. Again. I had no other option. I needed a car. Good thing it was a long walk to my parents' house and I was getting all this exercise because I was going to need a doughnut after taking possession of the Buick.
Grandma was at the door when I strolled down the street. 'It's Stephanie!'
Grandma yelled to my mother.
Grandma loved when I blew up cars. Blowing up Mama Macaroni would be icing on the cake for Grandma. My mother didn't share Grandma's enthusiasm for death and disaster. My mother longed for normalcy. Dollars to doughnuts, my mother was in the kitchen ironing. Some people popped pills when things turned sour. Some hit the bottle. My mother's drug of choice was ironing. My mother ironed away life's frustrations.
Grandma opened the door for me, and I stepped into the house and dropped my bag on the hall table.
'Is she ironing?' I asked Grandma Mazur.
'Yep,' Grandma said. 'She's been ironing since first thing this morning. Probably would have started last night but she couldn't get off the phone. I swear, half the Burg called about you last night. Finally we disconnected the phone.'
I went to the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee. I sat down at the little kitchen table and looked over at my mother's ironing basket. It was empty.
'How many times have you ironed that shirt you've got on the board?' I asked
my mother.
'Seven times,' my mother said.
