“Lapidus, I think you’re overselling it a bit,” Mitch said.
“If that’s the case then he’s been overselling it for twenty years,” Beth said. “Because that’s how long I’ve been hearing this story.”
“See, there was this incredibly hulking playground bully named Bruce Cooperman,” Kenny continued, ignoring them both. “He was a total goon. And huge. At age ten he was already shaving. Everyone was terrified of him. Everyone except for Berger. One day after school, I’m shooting hoops on the basketball court and Bruce starts giving me all sorts of grief. Takes my ball away from me, knocks me down, puts his big, fat foot on my neck and won’t let me back up. Won’t let me breathe. I’m facedown on the pavement, preparing to meet my maker, when I hear Berger say, ‘You’re being kind of rough on the little guy, aren’t you? Wanna try that with me?’ ”
“I stole that line from The Dirty Dozen,” Mitch interjected. “Clint Walker said it to John Cassavetes.”
“Bruce backed right off and gave me my ball back. And he never, ever bothered me again-because he knew that if he did, he’d have to take on Mitchell Berger, King of the Playground. Berger used to take me to see his favorite old movies, too. Heck, he pretty much taught me what cool was.”
“This is disturbing on so many different levels,” Des said, awestruck.
“Don’t mind her, Lapidus. She’s just bitter about being on duty tonight.”
“Ah yes, this would be the infamous Dorset Flasher. He strikes every weekend, I understand.”
“That’s correct.” Des raised an eyebrow at him. “And you come down here every weekend, right?”
“Why, yes. Yes, I do. Got in last night around 8:30. I drove my Prius down. It’s the light green one parked out front. I take Amtrak when I can but the train leaves Boston at 5:35 and sometimes I just can’t get away that early. The next train isn’t until 9:45, which means I don’t get here until midnight. So I jumped in the Prius. Made it here in just under two hours. Man, you would not believe the highway mileage that bad boy gets if I keep the speedometer just under
…” Kenny gulped, his eyes widening. “Whoa, you don’t think I’m the Flasher, do you?”
Des shook her head. “The man I’m looking for hasn’t got a love life. And you most certainly do.”
Kenny and Kimberly beamed at each other as the doorbell rang. Beth answered it and came back out onto the porch with Kimberly’s parents, Dex and Maddee. Beth’s smile seemed fixed a bit tighter now.
The notorious Dex Farrell wore a blue-and-white seersucker suit, red bow tie, crisp white shirt and polished cordovan loafers. His gaze was probing behind his rimless glasses. If Dex had been a Hollywood character actor, Mitch reflected, he would have specialized in playing judges and senators. He had a big head of neatly brushed white hair, a strong, decisive jaw. His manner was that of a man given to serious reasoning and sound judgment. All of which was a total deception. In reality he was none of those things. His wife Maddee was tallish and painfully thin. She wore a yellow summer dress, a pearl necklace and a truly alarming amount of bright magenta lipstick.
Kimberly went over to greet them with Des in tow. Animated conversation ensued. Mitch was about to join them when Kenny held him back.
“I know this comes out of nowhere, Berger, but I have a slightly humongous favor to ask of you. Would you be my best man?”
“Lapidus, I’d be honored… Wait, do I have to wear a tux?”
“I’m afraid so. And if you want to pass I’ll certainly understand.”
“For you, it’s no problem. Consider it done.”
Kenny let out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank God. Seriously, I may not survive the experience if you’re not right there by my side. Maddee’s insisting on a full-frontal Yacht Club freak show. I love Kimmy to death but her folks are… scary. Dex isn’t what you’d commonly think of as All There. And Maddee’s just real tightly wrapped. Plus she’s one of those insular country club types who’s never worked a day in her life. Mom can’t stand her, though she adores Kimmy. Hell, how can you not? And as long as the two of us are happy, mom’s cool with it.”
Dex Farrell built himself a gin and tonic and sat on the wicker sofa with it, his gaze fixed out on the rather gaudy rose garden. Mitch fortified himself with four more devilled eggs and headed on over there. “Mr. Farrell? I’m Mitch Berger.”
He stared at Mitch for a second before he said, “Of course you are, sir.” Dex spoke very softly. And slo-o-owly. Forcing Mitch to lean in closer to him. “Please… join me, Mr. Berger.”
Mitch flopped down next to him. “Only if you make it Mitch, okay?”
“She’s a fine figure of a woman-your fiancee.”
“We’re not engaged. We were, but we’re not anymore.”
“My mistake. Sorry if I raised a sore subject.”
“You didn’t.”
Maddee Farrell swooped down on them now like a protective mother hawk. “And this must be Mr. Berger,” she exclaimed brightly.
“He prefers to go by Mitch,” Dex informed her.
“Mitch, I’ve had have numerous opportunities to meet your lovely fiancee but I’ve never-”
“They’re not engaged. They were, but they’re not anymore.”
“It’s just such a pleasure to meet you at long last.” Maddee was an anxious woman with a strained, almost desperate expression on her face. Tightly wrapped indeed. “I understand you’ve recently lost a good deal of weight. I mention this because if you have any clothes that no longer fit, we’re always looking for items for the Nearly New shop at St. Anne’s. Just drop them by any time.”
“I’ll be sure to do that,” said Mitch, who’d already deposited his former wardrobe on the sidewalk in front of his apartment on West 102 Street. Every item was gone in less than sixty seconds.
Maddee studied him with keen-eyed interest. Mitch was still waiting for the lady to blink. “I hope you have an open mind.”
“I certainly try to.”
“My Dex is neither a monster nor a thief. Merely guilty of behaving like a gentleman. And for that he has been demonized, ostracized and-”
“Dear, kindly go away, will you?” Dex said to her quietly.
Maddee’s eyes widened with alarm, as if he’d just smacked her in the face. “Why, of course,” she murmured, scurrying off to the hors d’oeuvres table.
“Please excuse my wife, Mitch. Myself, I ask for no sympathy. I merely wish to live the remainder of my life in peace. I often think of a favorite quote of mine by Mencken: ‘American jurisprudence has been founded upon the axiom that it is the first duty of every citizen to police his neighbors, and especially those he envies or otherwise dislikes.’ Often overlooked these days, Mencken. Quite a shame. He possessed a fine, clear mind.” Dex fell silent for a moment before he added, “I enjoy your essays on the cinema very much. I admire people who write with passion. Or do anything with passion. That’s something I’ve lacked my entire life. I never wanted to head up Farrell and Co., you see. It was expected of me. And so, like a dutiful son, I did what I was expected to do. Unfortunately, some of the fellows whom I trusted-classmates of mine, good friends-did not. They turned their backs on sound financial practices and made our credit rating system over into a trillion-dollar game of three-card monte. Lying thieves, the whole lot of them. They fed me a steady diet of disinformation. I should have figured out what they were up to. Rolled up my sleeves, knocked heads. But I never loved the business enough to care.”
“Forgive me for asking, sir, but if you didn’t know what was going on why didn’t you admit that to Congress?”
Dex stared at him in disbelief. “Point the finger at someone else? Where’s the honor in that?”
“But it’s cost you your career, your good name.”
“Perfectly appropriate under the circumstances. It was my name on the door. Although I refuse to beat myself up over it. I intend to thoroughly enjoy the time I have left on this Earth.” Dex sipped his gin and tonic, gazing out at the roses again. “Why are we here, Mitch?”