“A son,” Dino said. “He’s four years old.”
“And where will he be attending school?”
“He’ll be going to Collegiate,” Mary Ann said, surprising her husband, who had never heard of Collegiate.
“Ah, yes; fine school. Do you have any pets?”
“No,” Dino said.
“And you are of Italian extraction?”
“I am.”
“Can you tell me a bit about your family background?”
“My family seat is Venice, where my ancestors have been Doges for twelve hundred years,” Dino lied.
“Ah, Doges, yes,” Whitfield said. The thought seemed to excite him. “And when did your family come to this country?”
“I am a tenth-generation American.” Minus nine.
“And Mrs. Bacchetti, are you of Italian extraction as well?”
“Yes. My people have always had lands in Sicily, from time immemorial.” There was only the tiniest trace of sarcasm in her voice.
“I see. And your family name?”
“Bianchi.”
“Ah.” Whitfield seemed to have heard this name before, somewhere, but he apparently didn’t remember where.
“Mr. Bacchetti, I see your father is deceased; may I ask what work he did before his death?”
“He was curator of a private art collection. His specialty was Renaissance drawings.” The closest Dino’s father had ever been to a Renaissance drawing had been the pictures in the girlie magazines in his candy store.
“How very interesting. And Mrs. Bacchetti, what does your father do?”
Dino felt Mary Ann shift; irritation was boiling off her in waves. He squeezed her hand, and she seemed to relax a bit.
“My people have always been in the revenge business,” she said sweetly.
Dino, unable to control himself, burst out laughing. To his amazement, Whitfield and his wife were laughing, too, as if Mary Ann had made some very clever joke.
“Just one more question,” Whitfield said when he had composed himself. “Mr. Bacchetti, I see that you are employed by the city of New York.”
“I am.”
“In what capacity?”
“I am a lieutenant with the New York Police Department; I command the detective division of the Nineteenth Precinct.”
“I see,” Whitfield said, not at all certain that he did. “And how did you come to choose that particular line of work?”
“My family has always been drawn to public service,” Dino replied.
“Very commendable,” Whitfield mused. “We had a burglary in our building recently, I’m afraid. Never happened before.”
“And if I come to live here, it will never happen again,” Dino said smoothly.
“Ah, yes!” Whitfield cried, his tumblers working. “I quite see your point! One watches NYPD Blue.”
“Excellent program,” Dino said. “Utterly realistic. By the way, I should mention that I am aware of the burglary, and I have doubled the police patrol on this block.”
“Wonderful! Have you caught the perpetrator yet?”
“I can reveal, in confidence, of course, that we now know his identity. We expect an arrest at any moment.”
“Excellent! Well, Mr. and Mrs. Bacchetti, I believe that tells us all we need to know. You will be hearing from the board very soon, and I think I can intimate that the answer will be a favorable one.”
The Bacchettis made their good-byes and departed. Once in the street again Dino said, “You sure you want to live in that place?”
“Very sure.”
“I mean, couldn’t you find a building with at least some Jews or something?”
“Get used to it,” Mary Ann said.
Chapter 45
Arrington, Dino, and Mary Ann sat at Stone’s kitchen table drinking wine while Stone cooked linguine with white clam sauce. The television was on NFL football, muted, and the men occasionally stole glances at the set.
“Anyway,” Dino was saying, “you shoulda been there to hear my wife tell these people that her family is in the revenge business.”
Everybody laughed.
“I always tell the truth,” Mary Ann said.
“Yeah? Then what was that about the Collegiate School?” Dino asked.
“That was almost the truth.”
“I never even heard of the Collegiate School, and my wife is telling these people that our kid is going there.”
“How old is he?” Arrington asked.
“Four,” Mary Ann replied.
“Apply now,” Arrington advised. “It may already be too late.”
“There’s not a public school in that neighborhood?” Dino asked innocently.
“Forget about it,” Mary Ann said. “He’s going to Collegiate.”
“Sounds like it’s tough to get in,” Dino said hopefully.
“We’ll have help,” Mary Ann said.
“Mary Ann, there are some things your old man can’t help with.”
“Name three.”
“Well, the Collegiate School is probably one of them.”
“Wanta bet?”
“I don’t think so,” Dino said resignedly.
“Good move,” Stone chipped in.
Arrington moved over to the stove and pretended to watch Stone work on the clam sauce. “Who is Mary Ann’s father?” she whispered.
“Why?” Stone whispered back. “You want somebody in cement shoes?”
“Oh.” She went back and sat down at the table. “Smells wonderful,” she said.
“I’m having a hard time with this,” Mary Ann said.
“With what?”
“With this extremely white-bread person over there making me Italian food.”
“I’m pretending to be a guinea,” Stone said.
“I hope it works.”
“We’re about to find out,” Stone said. He drained the pasta and dumped it in with the sauce, moving it around with a fork and spoon. He set the steaming platter on the table, where a salad and garlic bread already rested.
Everybody watched as Mary Ann expertly twirled some linguine around her fork and popped it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Not enough garlic,” she said.
“There’s twelve cloves in there,” Stone said, sounding hurt.
“Just kidding,” Mary Ann said, “my mother couldn’t have done it better. Well, not much better.”
Everybody pitched into the pasta. A commercial interrupted the game, and Dino switched to New York One, the all-news local channel.
“Don’t do that,” Mary Ann said.
“Why not? There was a commercial on the game.”
She turned to Stone and Arrington. “He turns on New York One in the hope that he’ll learn about a recently committed crime and he can leave his dinner and rush out to solve it.” She turned back to her husband. “You can do that at home, but not when you’re at somebody else’s house.” She picked up the remote control and switched back to the game.
“Wait!” Arrington cried. “Turn it back!” She grabbed at the remote control and started changing channels desperately.
“Channel ten,” Dino said helpfully.
She found it.
“What’s going on, Arrington?” Stone asked.
“I saw him.”
“Saw who?”
“He’s there, look for him!”
“Look for who?”
“Shut up.”
Stone shut up and watched. Arrington turned on the sound.
“…the biggest benefit of the year,” a woman reporter was saying as a crowd swirled around her. “The Shubert Theatre is completely sold out at prices of up to a thousand dollars a seat, and some of the biggest stars on Broadway will be performing tonight.”
“There,” Arrington said, pointing. “The man just behind the reporter. You can see the back of his head.”
“So?” Dino asked.
“That’s Jonathan Dryer,” she said. “I’m sure of it.”
The crowd was moving slowly toward the doors of the theater. Just as the head was about to move off the top of the screen, it turned.
“There, it’s him!”
There was a brief glimpse of a face before the camera zoomed in on the reporter. “The crowd is just returning from intermission, and there’s been a rumor circulating that Barbra Streisand is going to make a surprise appearance. We’ll let you know.” There was a cut to the studio, and the anchorman began to talk about a fire in Queens.