“But Lucy and I are still friends. Maybe sometime we can have lunch,” Koesler suggested, “just the three of us.”
“That would be nice.” Tully chalked his cue. “We could have it here at St. Joe’s … that is, if I can get by her brother and take over this parish officially.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will.”
Actually, after dissecting Vince’s personality and MO this evening, Koesler was not all that sure of a happy outcome.
Tully, on a run, was now studying his shots more carefully. “I was wondering”-he straightened up-“as you were telling that story: Do you think Delvecchio knew his sister had talked to you?”
“I don’t know. Not for sure. He’s never brought it up. And there have been occasions when he could have. But he’s never mentioned it.”
“You’d think he’d have tumbled to it. I mean, you’ve been so close to that family; it would have been natural for her to turn to you.”
“I guess.”
Tully laughed. “Maybe he’s taking it out on me instead of you.”
Koesler did not laugh. On the contrary, he grew more thoughtful.
“That,” Tully continued, “leaves only Delvecchio’s brother to be accounted for.”
“And his aunt Martha.”
“Oh, yeah, the aunt. But the brother … that relationship fascinates me. I mean, I get the impression that they were never very close … were they?”
“Not to my knowledge. But compared with the space between them now, they could have been the best of buddies as kids.”
“Deteriorated, has it?”
“Disintegrated,” Koesler said emphatically. “It’s really a shame what’s happened between those two. And it’s almost totally Vince’s fault.”
“Really?” It was Tully’s turn to shoot. Instead, he sat on the arm of one of the chairs. Evidently, he would rather hear the story of the brothers Delvecchio than shoot pool.
Koesler laid down his cue. But instead of being seated, he began to pace. “We’ve already talked about Tony’s big plans. A pro football player, retiring from that into broadcasting.
“Then came reality. No team took him in 1959. So he followed the example of a few other players and joined the Canadian Football League. He was sensational in his first year. His performance grabbed the interest of the NFL. He went to the Chicago Bears. He and another quarterback alternated, and while Tony didn’t set any records, he held up his end.
“Eventually, he was traded to Detroit, where in his waning years he was the backup quarterback.
“With the Lions, the big thing was he was the hometown kid come home. He was a native Detroiter and the fans loved him for it.
“By the time Tony retired from the field, the number of teams had mushroomed: Television was using more and more former players for either play-by-play or as color announcers. That’s when Tony got his big chance. First the networks and then the sponsors discovered how articulate and funny he could be. One thing led to another and Tony also became a high-priced pitchman for a whole bunch of products advertised on TV.
“It was as if Tony’s ship had come in: Everything seemed to be going his way.”
“Sounds good to me,” Tully said.
“Yeah, it does. But when it came to Vince and Tony, fate played some funny tricks. This, I think, was the most tragic relationship of them all.”
“I remember Tony’s playing days,” Tully said. “And I see him on TV during the season, but I don’t really know anything else about him. You mentioned a young woman-when he was about to graduate from college. Did they marry?”
Koesler almost winced. “No. And that’s what gave Vinnie his opening.”
1985
“’Samatter, babe?”
Beth Larson looked about her. “What could possibly be wrong surrounded by the ambience of the Lindell A.C., with Wayne Walker’s jockstrap on. the wall?”
“It’s bronzed.”
“Oh, that makes it all the more aesthetic.”
“C’mon now,” Tony Delvecchio pleaded. “Don’t go and ruin my night.”
Tony and Beth were seated at a table in the Lindell A.C., downtown Detroit’s quintessential jock beefeatery and watering hole-one of whose claims to fame was the now bronzed athletic supporter presented by Detroit Lions linebacker Wayne Walker upon his retirement from football.
Tonight there was another celebration. Tony Delvecchio’s jersey, “Old Number 28,” was going to be hung in the bar. Tony would never be elected to the Pro Football Hall of Fame. Nor would his number be retired by either the Bears or the Lions. But, for a time at least, it would be on exhibit in the Lindell A.C.
This was Tony’s crowd. Probably there was little reason for anyone to patronize the Lindell A.C. if one were not wildly in love with sports. It served its clientele well.
It held little attraction for Beth. She was here solely for Tony’s sake and the honor being paid him.
The presentation had been made minutes ago. Things were returning to normaclass="underline" arguments over statistics, bets on sports trivia, recollections of yesteryear’s heroics.
“Can’t we go yet?” Clearly, Beth was bored.
“In a little bit.” Tony’s brow knitted. “I’d think this place was beginning to reach you except that you’ve been like this for … what? — three, four weeks? What’s the problem?”
She picked up the sweating glass that held her gin and tonic and began making wet circles on the table. “You know the punchline, ‘It’s the whole damn thing’?”
“Yeah …?”
“Well, that’s what’s wrong: the whole damn thing.”
“That doesn’t give me much to go on.”
She put the glass down and caught his eyes in her gaze. “We’ve been together for twenty-six, years. Over a quarter of a century. And aside from setting some sort of record for living together without benefit of clergy, what have we got to show for it?”
“Lotsa good times. Lotsa good memories. And …” He shook his head. “… some that weren’t so good.”
“Couldn’t just about anybody say that?”
“So what’s so bad about it?”
“Tony, we should be grandparents by now. And we’ve never even had a kid. We could’ve had some really close friends. Where are they?”
“What do you call the people we chum around with? How ’bout”-his gaze swept around the room, then back to her-“the folks here tonight?”
“Jocks … and jocks’ wives. Look at the configuration: We’re the only couple sitting together. The men are hanging around the bar. The women are off by themselves. I know this happens at most gatherings, but at the parties we give-and go to-the separation of the sexes happens immediately-almost the minute they walk in. I know you know that there’s a world out there. But the rest of these guys-their world stops at the locker room door.”
“Honey, I’m a jock! It’s just natural that we hang together. But it doesn’t have to be like this. If you want to, we can pal around with some of the folks from your law firm … although,” he joked, “I got the impression you see enough of them during the week.” He realized she wasn’t sharing the joke. “Look, hon, at this stage in our lives, we can be with anyone we want. I’m just not at all sure a lot of the people in our tax bracket would be all that interesting.”
“That’s not it!” Her voice took on a tone of annoyance. “It’s …”
“I know: the whole damn thing. Well,” he said, after a moment, “there must be something we can do to get things off Square One.”
She toyed with her glass again. “Well, I have been thinking of something …”
“What?” Tell-me-what-it-is-and-I’ll-get-it-for-you, his tone said.
“Religion.”
He laughed so heartily that the level of conversational noise in the bar dropped abruptly. When the others noted that Beth was not laughing, but rather was flushed, they returned to their chatter. But not as loudly as before.
“What field did that come out of?”
“I’ve been thinking about your heritage. All your people are-were-Catholic. You attended parochial school. Your sister goes to Mass. My God, your brother’s just been made a bishop. But you haven’t gone to church since your mother’s funeral. Why?”