you. You isolate Tommy from his family, you make it clear you have contempt for all of us—”
“I have contempt for you? That’s a good one.”
“No one cares about ethnic differences any longer, Connie. No one thinks about those things.”
“How come John says my oldest son has guinea eyebrows?”
“You see, that’s just the point. He makes a little joke—”
As Connie climbed out of the car, a favorite expression of Celeste’s popped into her head, and without thinking she said, “Button it, Gail.” She walked over to Joey as her sister-in-law backed out of the driveway. “Sorry,” he said as she approached, pale beneath her powder, her nose beginning to shine. “It’s okay,” she said, sitting down beside him.
“You’re going to get your dress all dirty. Plus your lady friend is still watching you.”
Connie looked up and waved at Gail, then put her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. It occurred to her suddenly that her heart was beating fast, and that she was having a good time. It was difficult to tell whether it was because of Gail, or because of Joey. When she looked at him she could see herself in his eyes. “I don’t know what’s come over me,” she said, talking almost to herself. “Why were you waiting for me?” she added.
“Time for another lesson.”
“I’m not sure I can right now. Are the kids inside?”
“Not so I can tell.”
Connie eased her pumps off and stretched her legs in front of her. “My sisters-in-law aren’t bad people. They just don’t like me,” she said.
“I can understand that,” Joey said.
“Thanks,” Connie said.
“It’s an old thing, isn’t it?” he said. “Women don’t get on with a good-looking woman.” Then, as though he’d realized what he said, he ducked his glossy head. “You know what I mean. I even remember my mother and her friends talking about you, how you were the best-looking girl any of them had ever seen.” He laughed. “Except that no one would ever notice it because you were a midget princess held prisoner in a deep, dark cemetery.”
Connie laughed, too, but she could tell she was still pink and flustered by the compliment. “Your mother’s nice,” she said, not knowing what else to say.
“I think she always hoped my brother would marry you. She was mad as hell when she found out you were going to marry Scanlan. She said you were just making trouble for yourself.” For a moment the two of them looked at each other, and then Connie sighed.
“Let’s go in,” she finally said.
Inside, the house was perfectly still and smelled faintly of tuna fish. She dropped her shoes on the living-room floor and stood barefoot at the bottom of the stairs. “Maggie?” she called, but there was no answer.
Outside a car stopped, idled, died. Connie opened the door to see Celeste getting out. For some reason she was wearing a picture hat with fake flowers around the brim. She waved, and wobbled up the steps on a pair of stiletto heels, white patent leather with black scuff marks. “Damn,” she said, looking down, wetting her finger and balancing on one foot like a flamingo to raise the other and try to wipe away the marks. Connie laughed and held the door open for her. At least Gail had missed this.
“Sorry to bust in,” Celeste said. “I got you a blouse on sale.” Celeste looked at Connie’s navy-blue linen sheath with the white piping. “Don’t tell me—let me guess. Lunch with your mother-in-law.”
“Very good, Ce, very good. Card party with my sisters-in-law.”
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
Celeste screamed, clutched her breast, fell to the couch. Then she reached inside her shopping bag. “Next time, wear this,” she said. “It’s a size four. You’re the only person in the world who could wear it.” Celeste held up a white lace blouse. Connie could see daylight through it. Joey appeared in the doorway, holding a glass of water. “Who’s that for?” he said, his big eyebrows raised.
“Whoops,” said Celeste.
“How you doing, Celeste?” Joey Martinelli said. “You remember me?”
“Now that I see you I do,” said Celeste, handing her cousin the blouse. “You used to hang out with Bobby, who lived around the block. The one who’s a cop now? With the brother who’s a cop?”
“Giambone. Bobby Giambone. Yeah, I met you at his house once. You were maybe sixteen, seventeen. I think you were engaged.”
Celeste sighed. “I was engaged all the time then. So how come I don’t see you around any