Spoonbenders

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Teddy said. “She wasn’t feeling well, so we thought the doctor should—”

“Is she going to die?” Irene asked.

This wasn’t in Teddy’s script at all. “No, of course not! We’re just checking some things out and—damn it.”

Tears were already running down Irene’s face. He should have known better.

“She’s very sick,” Teddy said. “That’s true. But the medicines they’ve got today, the tools they have available—it’s just amazing. They’ve got a machine there that zaps the bad stuff. Pow, like a ray gun.”

“I know about radiation,” Irene said. “She’s been going for months.”

“Yes, but—” Damn it, what didn’t Irene know? “We gotta let all the medicines work. We’re not giving up, because that’s not who we are. Frankie, stop that.” The boy was standing in front of Buddy, deliberately blocking the Hot Wheels car with his foot. “Leave Buddy alone. Did you hear what I was saying?”

“Mom’s in the hospital,” Frankie said.

“That’s right. Now later I’m going to come back and pick you up. Mrs. Klauser is going to get you all dressed, and we can go down there for a visit, okay? I want you to wash your hair. All of you. And put on something nice.”

Frankie said, “Could you tell Mom something?” Buddy drove his car in the other direction, his back to the rest of them.

“Sure, sure,” Teddy said. He crouched down to look Frankie in the eye. “What do you want to tell your mother?”

“She should buy blueberry syrup like Mrs. Klauser. It tastes just like IHOP.”

“Syrup,” Teddy said.

“Blueberry. Can I go play now?”

Irene hadn’t moved, not even to brush the tears from her face.

“I need your help,” Teddy said to her. He stood up, and brushed the crease from his wool pants. “Can you help get the boys ready?”

She nodded.

“Good girl. I’ve always been able to depend on you.”

He was still leaning on her, now literally. He hobbled up to Mitzi’s Tavern using the newly purchased tri-tipped cane, but for extra drama he made Irene keep a hand on his biceps, as if at any moment he’d pitch over onto the sidewalk. He’d told her to keep one hand on him at all times, and to not forget to be nice.

Another weekend morning, another empty tavern. Barney locked the door behind them. “Don’t want the drunks wandering in,” he said. He nodded toward the open door of the office. It took Teddy and Irene a while to get there.

Nick Pusateri Senior sat behind the desk. Unlike Barney, who looked like an air mattress that had been inflated and deflated too many times, Nick was essentially the same man, only more weathered. Teddy thought, God preserve us from the longevity of assholes.

“Great to see you,” Teddy said.

Nick came around the desk and shook hands, his grip deliberately crushing. Teddy didn’t have to fake the wince, and he saw Nick enjoy that sign of weakness. Teddy didn’t let on that his only desire was to jam his tri-cane down the man’s throat. Yes, it’d be more work than a regular cane, but so worth the effort.

“And you must be little Irene,” Nick said.

Irene smiled a tight smile. Teddy hoped she could pretend to be the dutiful daughter through this meeting. She was innately honest, like her mother. Deception was Teddy’s department.

They took their seats on opposite sides of the desk. Nick had six pencils lined up on the cherry surface, all perpendicular to the edge, all sharpened to exactly the same length. So, Teddy thought. He’s stressed. Nick’s OCD always kicked in when he was stressed. It had to be the pressure of the trial.

Nick said, “You’re looking well, Teddy.”

Irene’s hand tightened on his arm. Teddy smiled, kept his eyes on Nick. “And that haircut never gets old.” He leaned toward Irene. “Literally, it cannot get old.”

Irene kept her smile in place.

“Because it’s a fake,” Teddy said.

“Uh-huh,” she said without moving her lips.

“A toupee.”

“I get it, Dad.”

Nick laughed like it was a thing he’d seen people do in movies. “Still giving me the business, after all these years. Glad you still got some balls, Teddy.”

Teddy shrugged. “Mitzi not coming?”

“She’s feeling under the weather. Caught a bug.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Teddy said sincerely. “She seemed fine the other day.”

“She’ll snap back. She’s a tough bird.”

They agreed on this. Teddy told the story about Mitzi hitting an unruly drunk on the side of the head with a telephone. “What was his name? Right on the tip of my tongue.” He made a shaky gesture with one hand, playing the doddering old man, the scatterbrained ancient. The name of the victim was Ricky Weyerbach, and he used to be an electrician at the Candlelight Dinner Playhouse before he hurt his back. “Anyway. Big guy, twice her size, and bam, right on the temple.”

Nick laughed, and it nearly sounded human this time.

“This was one of those Bakelite monsters that weigh ten pounds,” Teddy explained to Irene. “Put the guy in the hospital.”

Nick liked that, Teddy saw. He liked any story about the fearsome Pusateris. At least any story that wasn’t on the front page of the Sun-Times.