wondered, breathless. “And they make you get a tattoo!” I blurted, like it was worse, even, than killing off their own members here and there.“On your wrist! A B for Belfiere!”
I watched it all sink in. It was like watching the moment when a four-beer buzz leaves, and what’s left is called sobriety. Finally, Joe Beck sucked in air while he studied the ceiling, and he pushed himself out of his chair and came around to my side of the desk. “This is worrisome, Eve,” he said softly, setting a hand on my shoulder. It needed to be lower for any real pleasure, but I murmured anyway, which I hoped he didn’t hear. “I’ll put Milo on it.”
Then I told Joe Beck about my first class of Basic Cooking Skills at the Quaker Hills Career Center. His eyes were wide. Like listening to his dad tell him when he was eleven about the birds and the bees. Thrusting out my lips, I concluded the tale of matches, knives, and Death Eaters with, “Apprentice felons. Believe me, no squirrel is safe around these guys.”
Joe Beck nodded. And nodded again. Leaning against the door to his office, Joe Beck suddenly switched subjects. His beautiful blue eyes were closed. “About Belfiere,” he said, “since there’s no known crime—yet—my advice is for you to stand back and let your grandmother make her own decisions.”
I bristled. “Well, that’s crummy advice.”
“What do you want for a buck?”
“A buck and a sandwich,” I protested, gettingto my feet.
“I stand corrected.” He moved toward me.
For some crazy reason, it sounded sexual, but maybe it was me.
At the same time, we both blurted, “I need more info.”
He whirled and went to the outer office, apparently to put Milo on the case. I’m pretty sure there were snorts.
When he was gone, I pushed my thick auburn hair from my face and stalked around my lawyer’s office. All in all, for a business lunch, I think it went pretty well. I think maybe he disliked me a little less. I think maybe Joe Beck and Eve Angelotta could be—
And then, with a little swagger, I stopped in front of his open calendar.
The entry for July 5 read: National Trial Lawyers Association Dinner Dance. Philly Ritz Carlton. 8 p.m.
Not in itself bad.
And then my eyes settled on the line below: Kayla. 7 p.m.
At which I went weak in the knees and I’m sorry to say it had nothing to do with any granting of wishes that cost me all of twelve cents.
4
So Wednesday June 18th was shaping up to be the Eve Angelotta contribution to Miracolo’s Grief Week. What with the body blows from the miscreants in my Basic Cooking Skills class and the discovery that Joe Beck was taking the odious Kayla Angelotta to a swank dinner dance, I found myself wondering what framed photo of myself I could add to the Grief Week shrine on the bar. Eve Angelotta: Run Over by the Lying Underhandedness and Crappy Romantic Choices of Others.
Wretched didn’t quite cover what I was feeling by the time I left the offices of Carson and Beck, Attorneys at Law. As I passed him, where he was talking to Milo, I just couldn’t bring myself to call him out on dating my cousin—dating her and not coming clean about it—so I thanked him for histime, said I’d see him around, and got out of there as quickly as I could. He looked kind of quizzical at my speedy exit, but maybe he could apply Milo to that problem as well . . .
The only bright spot about Joe and Kayla’s upcoming date was my knowledge that Flaky Farmer Girl couldn’t dance. Let’s put it this way: two left feet would have been a considerable improvement.
I drove slowly to the restaurant, stopping home briefly for my work clothes. And when I parked down the street from Miracolo, it looked like we were besieged with vendors, what with their vans double-parked outside. I liked Arne the table linens delivery guy, but creepy Sandor the carpet delivery guy was also on hand, waiting for me to make an entrance so he could make his Sandor versions of erotic
I watched it all sink in. It was like watching the moment when a four-beer buzz leaves, and what’s left is called sobriety. Finally, Joe Beck sucked in air while he studied the ceiling, and he pushed himself out of his chair and came around to my side of the desk. “This is worrisome, Eve,” he said softly, setting a hand on my shoulder. It needed to be lower for any real pleasure, but I murmured anyway, which I hoped he didn’t hear. “I’ll put Milo on it.”
Then I told Joe Beck about my first class of Basic Cooking Skills at the Quaker Hills Career Center. His eyes were wide. Like listening to his dad tell him when he was eleven about the birds and the bees. Thrusting out my lips, I concluded the tale of matches, knives, and Death Eaters with, “Apprentice felons. Believe me, no squirrel is safe around these guys.”
Joe Beck nodded. And nodded again. Leaning against the door to his office, Joe Beck suddenly switched subjects. His beautiful blue eyes were closed. “About Belfiere,” he said, “since there’s no known crime—yet—my advice is for you to stand back and let your grandmother make her own decisions.”
I bristled. “Well, that’s crummy advice.”
“What do you want for a buck?”
“A buck and a sandwich,” I protested, gettingto my feet.
“I stand corrected.” He moved toward me.
For some crazy reason, it sounded sexual, but maybe it was me.
At the same time, we both blurted, “I need more info.”
He whirled and went to the outer office, apparently to put Milo on the case. I’m pretty sure there were snorts.
When he was gone, I pushed my thick auburn hair from my face and stalked around my lawyer’s office. All in all, for a business lunch, I think it went pretty well. I think maybe he disliked me a little less. I think maybe Joe Beck and Eve Angelotta could be—
And then, with a little swagger, I stopped in front of his open calendar.
The entry for July 5 read: National Trial Lawyers Association Dinner Dance. Philly Ritz Carlton. 8 p.m.
Not in itself bad.
And then my eyes settled on the line below: Kayla. 7 p.m.
At which I went weak in the knees and I’m sorry to say it had nothing to do with any granting of wishes that cost me all of twelve cents.
4
So Wednesday June 18th was shaping up to be the Eve Angelotta contribution to Miracolo’s Grief Week. What with the body blows from the miscreants in my Basic Cooking Skills class and the discovery that Joe Beck was taking the odious Kayla Angelotta to a swank dinner dance, I found myself wondering what framed photo of myself I could add to the Grief Week shrine on the bar. Eve Angelotta: Run Over by the Lying Underhandedness and Crappy Romantic Choices of Others.
Wretched didn’t quite cover what I was feeling by the time I left the offices of Carson and Beck, Attorneys at Law. As I passed him, where he was talking to Milo, I just couldn’t bring myself to call him out on dating my cousin—dating her and not coming clean about it—so I thanked him for histime, said I’d see him around, and got out of there as quickly as I could. He looked kind of quizzical at my speedy exit, but maybe he could apply Milo to that problem as well . . .
The only bright spot about Joe and Kayla’s upcoming date was my knowledge that Flaky Farmer Girl couldn’t dance. Let’s put it this way: two left feet would have been a considerable improvement.
I drove slowly to the restaurant, stopping home briefly for my work clothes. And when I parked down the street from Miracolo, it looked like we were besieged with vendors, what with their vans double-parked outside. I liked Arne the table linens delivery guy, but creepy Sandor the carpet delivery guy was also on hand, waiting for me to make an entrance so he could make his Sandor versions of erotic
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