Jack shook his head and said, 'Naw. I wouldn't get you up early on a Sunday morning for tennis balls.'
'Glad to hear it.' He unlocked the grille and pushed it back far enough to expose the door. 'Did you see the business section of the
'It's too nice a day for an economic holocaust, Abe.'
'All right,' he said, unlocking the door and pushing it open. 'Go ahead, close your eyes to it. But it's coming and the weather has nothing to do with it.'
After disarming the alarm system, Abe headed for the back of the store. Jack didn't follow. He went directly to the tennis racquets and picked out a Wilson Hammer. The grip felt good in his hand, and it was already strung.
He was about to call out that he'd take this one when he noticed Abe glaring at him from the end of the aisle.
'For this you took me away from my breakfast? A tennis racquet?”
'And balls, too. I'll need some balls.”
'Balls you've got! Too much balls to do such a thing to me! You said it was an emergency!'
Jack had been expecting this reaction. Sunday was the only morning Abe allowed himself the forbidden foods: lox with his bagels,
'It is an emergency. I'm supposed to be playing with my father in a couple of hours.'
Abe's eyebrows rose and wrinkled his forehead all the way up to where his hairline once had been.
'Your father? First Gia, now your father. What is this? They talk of self-hating Jews, but a self-hating goy?'
'He’s not so bad.'
'Nu? Then why do you avoid him? And why are you in such a black mood every time you return from one of these jaunts into Jersey?'
'Because he's a good guy who happens to be a pain in the ass.'
They both knew that wasn't the whole story but by tacit agreement neither said any more. Jack paid for the racquet and a couple of cans of Penn balls.
'I'll bring you back some tomatoes,' he said as the grille closed across the storefront again.
Abe brightened. 'That's right. Beefsteaks are in season. Get me some.'
Next stop was Julio's, where Jack picked up Ralph, the car Julio kept for him. It was a '63 Corvair, white with a black convertible top and a rebuilt engine. Not at all Julio's style, but Julio hadn't paid for it. Jack had seen it in the window of a classic car store; he’d given Julio the cash to go make the best deal he could and have it registered in his name. Legally it was Julio's car, but Jack paid the insurance and the garage fee and reserved preemptive right of use for the rare occasions when he needed it.
Today was such an occasion. Julio had it gassed up and waiting for him. He’d also decorated it a bit since the last time Jack had taken it out: A 'Hi!' hand waved from the left rear window, fuzzy dice hung from the mirror, and in the rear window sat a little dog whose head wobbled eyes blinked red in unison with the tail lights.
Jack gave Julio what he hoped was a withering stare. 'You expect me to ride around with those?'
Julio did his elaborate shrug. 'What can I say, meng? 'S in the blood.'
Jack didn't have time to remove the cultural paraphernalia, so he took the car as it was. Armed with the finest New York State driver license money could buy—in the name of Jack Howard—he slipped the Semmerling and its holster into the special compartment under the front seat and began a leisurely drive crosstown.
Sunday morning is a unique time in Manhattan. Few buses and cabs, no trucks being unloaded, no work crews tearing up the streets, and only a rare pedestrian or two here and there. Quiet. All would change as noon approached, but at the moment Jack found it almost spooky.
He followed Fifty-eighth Street all the way to its eastern end and pulled in to the curb before 8 Sutton Square.
2
Gia answered the doorbell. With Eunice off and Nellie still asleep, the job fell to her. She wrapped her robe more tightly around her and walked slowly, carefully from the kitchen to the front of the house. The inside of her head felt too big for her skull, her tongue thick, her stomach slightly turned. Champagne...why should something that made you feel so good at night leave you feeling so awful the next day?
A look through the peephole showed Jack standing there in shorts and a dark blue shirt.
'Tennis, anyone?' he said with a lopsided grin as she opened the door.
He looked good. Gia had always liked a lean, wiry build on a man. She liked the linear cords of muscle in his forearms, and the curly hair on his legs. Why did he look so healthy when she felt so sick?
'Well? Can I come in?'
Gia realized she had been staring at him. She’d seen him three times in the past four days and was getting used to having him around again. That wasn't good. But she saw no defense against it until Grace was found—one way or another.
'Sure.' When the door was closed behind him, she said, 'Who're you playing? Your Indian lady?'
She regretted that immediately, remembering his crack last night about jealousy. She wasn't jealous...just curious.
'No. My father.'
'Oh.' Gia knew from the past how painful it was for Jack to spend time with his father.
