Читать книгу This Little Piggy - M.G. Crisci - Страница 6

NORTH GREENWICH, CONNECTICUT.

Finding the right partner can make all the difference in the world.

Victor loved coming home to his elegantly casual five-acre homestead in North Greenwich. It validated the compromises he had made on his climb up the A&J success ladder.

Despite his Sammy Glick type-A demeanor and love of status symbols, he genuinely adored his beautiful wife, Sandra. Despite her humble blue-collar upbringing, she looked like a page straight out of Vogue – dark hair and mysterious eyes, olive Mediterranean complexion, perfectly proportioned size eight, ever the lady in dress and demeanor, and unequivocally supportive of her husband’s decisions.

Sandra and Victor’s relationship was the stuff of romantic novels. They met for the first time when Victor was a freshman in college, and Sandra was a junior in high school. Victor had decided to attend a Friday evening dance at the college with his friend Johnny. Coincidentally, Sandra was dragged to the same dance by her girlfriend, Lois, despite Sandra’s protestations that she had to work early Saturday morning at the supermarket.

Early in the evening, Victor spotted Sandra sitting quietly in the corner. He asked her to dance. She smiled sweetly but responded, “No thanks.” Victor melted. There was the girl of his dreams right in front of him, and he couldn’t even get her to dance.

“Just for the record, the rumors are greatly exaggerated,” said Victor, fishing for an attention-getting starter.

“Rumors?”

“They’re not true. I promise,” smiled Victor.

“What’s not true?” asked Sandra, staring at Victor with her big brown eyes.

“That I’m a distant cousin of Count Dracula, and I suck the blood of any woman who dances with me.”

Sandra beamed. The music began. The song was perfect. “The Way You Look Tonight.” Victor’s hand reached out. “They’re playing our song.” Sandra smiled, took his hand. By song’s end, she was gently nestled on his shoulder, feeling safe, secure, and loved. Victor was done!

That evening, he bet his buddy Johnny five bucks that they would one day marry. They memorialized the bet on a scrap of paper that Johnny folded and placed in his wallet. Two years later, at the tender age of twenty-one, Victor and Sandra were married. Johnny was Victor’s best man. Lois was Sandra’s maid of honor. During the toast, Johnny explained the bet the two men had made. He took a small crumpled piece of paper out of his wallet and gave it Sandra, and he gave Victor the five dollars. There was not a dry eye in the room.

For the next seventeen years, their lives were filled with loving families, good friends, happy times, and two sons, Matt and Mark. Sandra still had that scrap of paper, and Victor still had Sandra, even though more than half of their married friends had split. Sandra’s twice-divorced sister-in-law, Christine, described the couple at their fifteenth-anniversary party as, “THE fairytale marriage that only happens in books and movies..”

~

It was son Matt’s sixteenth birthday. Sandra was tending to final details. The couple had been persuaded by the kids to open their 11,000-square-foot antique colonial listed in Connecticut’s historical register, to a “by invitation only” celebration. The kiddies had transformed the hard-top tennis court into a disco, replete with lights and strobes, and the rap sounds of Ice Cube, Tupac Shakur, and Easy E blasting over local disc jockey Mario Vitrella’s spanking new Yamaha Stagepas 500 portable PA system. Fortunately, the closest neighbor on this isolated country road was tens of acres away. Sandra thought the arrangements seemed a little lavish for 50 or 60 kids but elected to say nothing, particularly since neither she of Victor had not been asked to contribute a dime to the festivities.

~

“How was Prince Charming’s day?”

“Just your typical run-of-the-mill day. I convinced some guys from Harvard to spend an extra $25 million, and the chairman invited me to have coffee on Thursday in his office.”

Sandra smiled. “Is that all?”

“Actually, no. An old friend of mine, Johnny Katz, rang to tell me one of the kings of Wall Street wants to buy me breakfast Friday morning and tell me how he’s going to make us filthy rich.”

Sandra stopped in her tracks. “Katz! Didn’t you fire that guy?”

Victor began to put his spin on Johnny. “I did, but it didn’t have anything to do with his work ethic. It was a cultural fit issue. Johnny has always been creative, inventive, out-of-the-box.”

“Don’t you mean out-of-the-mainstream?”

Victor realized this was not the time or place to say anymore — seventeen years of marriage had taught him a few things. “To be fair, let’s discuss this tomorrow morning. Let’s chaperone tonight’s party with a good bottle of wine.”

~

Matt’s party was not exactly as billed. The invitation had been photocopied and “accidentally” passed around school. A long line of kids lined up at an entrance table; Victor grabbed Matt. “Young man, what the hell is going on? I thought this was a party for your close friends.”

Matt grinned. “Dad,” he said in his best Madison Avenue-speak, “I’m as surprised as you.”

Victor knew his son was blowing smoke. “Yeah, then who is that guy collecting money at the entrance table?”

“Dad,” smiled Matt, “You should be happy; I’m an evolving entrepreneur. Word got around that we were having a party with live music. I just decided to capitalize on the opportunity. My research suggested that kids would pay ten bucks a head. Look at it this way: I should make enough after expenses to pay for schoolbooks and gas when you lend me a car. How bad is that?”

Victor cracked up. “Just keep this damn thing under control. The last thing we need is a neighbor calling the cops, and your mother getting all over my case.”

“Dad, no sweat. Matt’s got your back.” Victor shook his head as he headed back to the main house. Matt waved to the black pick-up truck filled with beer kegs sitting in the darkness on the side of the house to head down the service road to the pool area.

~

Two policemen approached the patio, clubs in tow. “Who the hell is running this shindig?”

Victor, sensing he was in big doo-doo, responded sheepishly, “I am, Officer Mathias.”

“We were patrolling the area and noticed cars everywhere. Looks like 300 kids, maybe more.” The party had grown enormously since the father-son chat earlier. What could Victor say? More damaging than the sheer numbers was the presence of a generous number of beer kegs. Underage party drinking had become a real no-no. Victor was certain he was about to meet the citation pad, have the party shut down, and maybe worse.

“Sir, do you have any idea how many cars are on this block?”

“Not exactly, officer. I didn’t realize the party would be….”

“Sir,” said the officer. “My partner and I have called for help. We’re going to place roadblocks at both ends of the street so that no else enters unless they live on the street or are coming to the party. Our captain will give us hell if we don’t keep some order. This is supposed to be a pretty ritzy neighborhood.”