4 Decoupage Can Be Deadly (19 page)

“Looks like the old battle-axe lives to see another day,” said Zack.

“She’s probably off fomenting a government takeover. Now that she’s mostly recovered from her stroke and surgery, she’s back to her old tricks.”

Lately, Lucille stayed home as little as possible. I suspected she and her comrades-in-arms, the twelve other members of the Daughters of the October Revolution, were up to something. I just didn’t know what. However, as long as they didn’t commandeer my living room and dining room, not to mention my office supplies, they could plot to their octogenarian hearts’ content.

I began scurrying around the house, grabbing clothes and towels for Mama and an armload of rags from the basement. At the last minute I dashed into the bathroom for her hair dryer and a brush.

In less than twenty minutes we arrived back at the condo. Mama had stripped off her wet clothes and now wore a gray and navy Pollack Motors sweatshirt, the same one Lawrence arrived wearing. She’d wrapped her wet hair in what appeared to be Lawrence’s white T-shirt.

Mama let loose a deep sigh when I handed her the bag containing her clothes. Her lower lip jutted out and trembled ever so slightly. Her voice quivered when she spoke. “I don’t suppose I can change your mind about not continuing to paint. We won’t be able to move tomorrow, otherwise.”

Sarah Bernhardt lives! Mama made a valid point, though. I weighed spending the remainder of the day rolling shades of gray against another week of Mama versus Lucille warfare within the confines of
Casa Pollack
. Not to mention two less mouths to feed, one two-legged and one four-legged.

“We might as well finish,” said Zack. “We’re already here and covered in paint.”

Mama brightened, rewarding him with a smile and a batting of her lashes. She placed her hand on his forearm. “Thank you, Zack dear.” Zack had managed to find a quick way back into Mama good graces at my expense.

Mama turned her attention, along with pleading eyes, back to me. “Am I really asking that much, dear? Zack is willing to stay, and Lawrence and I will help.”

I capitulated. “All right. As long as you stay at least five feet from any open can of paint.”

“Really, Anastasia, you can’t blame me for what happened in the bathroom. How was I to know Zackary had a gallon of paint precariously perched on a ladder behind the door?”

I bit my tongue. Hard. Zack appeared to be doing likewise. I mentally counted to twenty before speaking. “You and Lawrence need to pick up another gallon of Mother of Pearl for the bathroom after you change and dry your hair.”

“Of course, dear. Did you bring my makeup?”

“Just a brush and hair dryer.”

Mama turned to Lawrence. “We’ll have to stop back at Anastasia’s before heading to Home Depot. I’m not going to the store without makeup.” Having dictated the agenda, she sashayed into the empty bedroom to dress.

After Mama and Lawrence left the condo, Zack asked, “That will keep them busy for awhile. How much do you think we can accomplish before they return?”

“The way Mama primps? We should have the rest of the living room and the dining room painted before they return.”

“At which point we can send them out to pick up lunch. If we keep them busy running errands all day, we should be able to avoid any further disasters.”

I wrapped my arms around Zack’s neck and kissed him. “I like the way you think.” Bad move. A certain body part sprang to life between us. I quickly broke the kiss and stepped back. “Grab a roller.”

“I’d rather grab you.”

“After you help me finish painting.”

“Killjoy.”

“Me? I’m the one who wanted to walk out earlier, remember?” I picked up my roller, loaded some Stratus paint onto it, and returned to the wall I’d left half-painted after Mama’s collision with a gallon of latex. “Start rolling. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can get out of here.”

By five o’clock Zack and I had finished painting the entire condo. Lawrence offered to take us out to dinner, but all I wanted was a long soak in my bathtub. Every muscle in my body berated me for having overworked them.

“We’ll bring something in,” said Lawrence. “I’ll see if Ira and the kids can join us.”

I stifled a groan. Was it too late to change my mind and agree to dinner at a nice restaurant? But Lawrence had already whipped out his cell and placed a call to Ira. A moment later I learned I’d be having four additional guests at the dinner table.

~*~

Instead of a long soak, I had to settle for a short shower in order to make room in the house for dinner guests. Mama’s cartons and suitcases still covered much of the living room and dining room, although by now most of them were packed. Since neither she nor Lawrence had helped paint, I gave them, along with Nick and Alex, the task of clearing space and setting the table while Zack and I showered and dressed. Separately, of course.

A short time later Ira and his brood arrived with two shopping bags filled with cartons of Chinese food. I eyed Ira’s three kids. None of them looked happy to be back at
Casa Pollack
, but I noticed their hands were gadget free. Hopefully, we wouldn’t have a repeat of our last encounter.

“Isaac and the twins have something to say to you, Anastasia,” said Ira after giving me a wet peck on the cheek. I exerted extreme willpower to keep from wiping the slobber from my face.

I waited for the kids to say something.

“Children?” prompted their father.

The three of them mumbled something indiscernible. “I’m afraid I didn’t hear you,” I said. “Please speak up.”

“We’re sorry, Aunt Anastasia.” The words came out in unison, sounding less than heartfelt and full of sing-song belligerence, but at least this time I heard them. I didn’t push my luck by asking exactly what they were sorry for because I knew they weren’t at all sorry. At least now, hopefully, I could expect not to have a repeat of our last encounter.

“Thank you for apologizing,” I said.

“I’ll help you with the food,” said Ira. He carried the bags into the kitchen. I followed, wondering if Lawrence planned to reimburse his son-in-law for the dinner. Lawrence manipulated Ira more than Mama manipulated me.

Ira set the bags on the kitchen table. “Thanks for forcing me to wake up,” he said. When I stared blankly at him, he continued. “About my children. Everything you said the other night?”

“I know it’s hard to play the bad guy, Ira. Being a single parent isn’t easy.” I grabbed serving dishes and utensils.

“Understatement of the year.”

“How are they adjusting to Cynthia’s departure?”

Ira barked out a laugh. “They’re thrilled to be rid of her. Frankly, so am I. I never should have married her, but then, Flora and Lawrence wouldn’t have met. I guess everything happens for a reason.”

“Have you spoken with Cynthia since she left?” I didn’t let Ira know Lawrence suspected Ira had thrown Cynthia out on her Size Zero butt. That bit of gossip came from Mama, and years of experience had taught me to question everything my mother told me.

Ira opened a carton of fried rice and began spooning the contents into a bowl. “I tried calling her a few times. She’s not answering her cell. Probably having too much fun with her new boy toy.”

“She was having an affair?” Mama failed to mention that juicy tidbit of gossip. Either Lawrence didn’t know or was too embarrassed by his daughter’s behavior to discuss it.

Ira shrugged. “I’ve suspected for some time. The pool boy. How cliché is that?”

“When did Cynthia walk out on you?”

“A week ago. She didn’t even bother leaving a note this time.”

This time?
“She’s run off with someone before?”

“Twice. She’ll come crawling back soon enough when she runs out of money. I cancelled her credit cards. Once the well dries up, the pool boy will dump her. This time I’m not taking her back.”

“I’m sorry, Ira.”

“Don’t be. I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

“What will you do about childcare once Lawrence moves to the condo?” Ira’s kids certainly weren’t old enough to leave alone for hours at the McMansion.

“The kids leave for school before I have to leave for work in the morning. I’m hoping Lawrence and Flora will come to the house in the late afternoon and stay with them until I arrive home.”

Red flags began waving in my mind. Ira’s three kids were incorrigible. If they decided to stage a rebellion, I doubted Mama and Lawrence would survive the initial attack. “Have you spoken to them about this?”

“Not yet.”

I was about to point out the downside of his plan, but Zack chose that moment to enter the house through the back door. Seeing me alone with Ira, his alpha male sprang into action and commenced territorial marking.

He crossed the room, wrapped his arm around my waist, and kissed me. Unlike Ira’s wet pecks, Zack’s kisses never made me think of a St. Bernard’s slobber. Maybe I should suggest Zack give Ira kissing lessons. If Ira knew how to kiss, he might have better luck finding and keeping his next wife.

“Need any help?” asked Zack after finally separating his lips from mine.

“You’re timing is excellent.” I handed him two bowls of food to bring out to the dining room. “And have one of the boys tell Lucille dinner is ready.”

Lucille and Mephisto had walked into the house shortly after Ira and his kids arrived. She took one look at the commotion in the living room, grunted, and headed for her bedroom.

I had glanced out the window in time to see Harriet Kleinhample, designated driver for the Daughters of the October Revolution, pulling her antiquated orange Volkswagen minibus off the curb and back onto the street. At least she’d missed the oak tree this time.

Ira’s three kids wolfed down their plates of moo goo gai pan and chow mei fun before I had a chance to take more than three bites. “Can we be excused?” Melody asked Ira. Or was it Harmony? I needed a way to tell the difference between those two, especially now that Mama was marrying Lawrence. Something told me by default I’d drawn the short holiday hosting straw from now on.

“Me, too?” asked Isaac.

“Ask Aunt Anastasia,” said Ira.

The three of them turned toward me, their silent expressions almost daring me to deny their request. If they were my kids, I’d make them stay at the table until everyone had finished eating. But they weren’t my kids. For that I launched a silent prayer of gratitude heavenward. At least I’d won the genetic roll of the dice when it came to Pollack offspring. “You can watch television in the den if you want, but leave Ralph alone.”

“Who’s Ralph?” asked Isaac.

“The parrot. Don’t stick your fingers in his cage or open the door.”

“Whatever.”

The three of them raced from the room without so much as a thank you.

Less than a minute later they were back in the dining room, hands on hips, pouts on lips.

“You’re TV’s busted,” said Isaac.

Great! Another expense I don’t need
. “Won’t it turn on?”

“It turns on,” said Harmony/Melody, “but it’s only getting a couple of lame channels.”

“Your cable is out,” said Melody/Harmony.

“We don’t get cable,” said Nick. “Not anymore.”

One of the major sore spots for my son when it came to accepting our new life of near-poverty—no ESPN. Cable hook-up, along with many other luxuries my family once took for granted, had gone the way of the dodo bird at the Pollack homestead.

Isaac’s eyes grew wide. “How can you not have cable? That’s like not having Internet.”

“Jeez, you’re practically pre-historic,” said Melody/Harmony, rolling her eyes at me. She turned to her father. “There’s nothing to do here, Dad. Why do you keep dragging us to visit these losers?”

“Melody, that’s not a very nice thing to say,” said Ira. “Apologize to—”

“I want my phone!” demanded Harmony/Melody, planting herself next to her father’s chair and sticking her hand out under his nose.

“Me, too,” said Melody/Harmony, coming up alongside her sister and shoving another hand at Ira.

Ira caved immediately. So much for the lesson he claimed to have learned. He reached into his sports coat pocket and handed the girls their phones.

“What about me?” asked Isaac. “Where’s my Game Boy?” Ira reached into his other pocket and produced Isaac’s game. His son snatched it out of Ira’s hand and started to head back to the den. Halfway into the living room he turned around and asked, “What are you, like poor or something?”

Ira turned to me and mumbled, “I’m sorry,” as Isaac raced toward the den.

Right now I felt sorrier for Ira than I did myself. It didn’t take a clairvoyant to see into the future when it came to those kids of his. I glanced at both my sons. For all his wealth, I’d never trade places with Ira. I was far wealthier where it mattered most.

~*~

We were clearing the table when my doorbell rang. “That’s for me,” said Ira. He dropped an armload of dishes back on the table and headed for the front door.

The rest of us, minus Lucille, carried stacks of dirty dishes into the kitchen. A moment later Ira joined us. He waved a large white envelope in front of my face. “Your new wheels have arrived.”