“I work with him,” Carl said. “Pete Lancelotta.”
Carl sold clothes hangers, of all things. To clothing stores. He also sold the racks to hang clothes on and the spinning racks that makeup and panty hose often sat in.
“He’s bald,” Kelsey said.
“Balding,” Janice interjected. “And very tall.”
“Big,” Carl said.
“Not fat,” Janice added quickly.
“I didn’t say fat,” Carl said. “Jesus. He’s a big guy.”
“Big sounds like fat,” Janice said. “I don’t want Olivia to think he’s fat, that’s all.”
“I don’t think he’s fat,” Olivia said.
“See?” Carl said. “Jesus.”
A vague image was forming. A tall, bald, fat man who acted like Carl.
“I can’t place him,” Olivia said. She wondered if she would get salmonella poisoning from the undercooked chicken.
Janice leaned toward her, across the scorched risotto—Olivia now knew what she’d smelled burning—and said in a low voice, “He got divorced recently. The wife is a nightmare. She got his credit cards up to something like ten thousand dollars and stopped working and only watched the O.J. trial. I mean, that’s how she spent her time. Shopping and watching the O.J. trial.”
Olivia shook her head, tried to look sympathetic. She was officially drunk and she wanted to leave.
“Not ten thousand,” Carl said. “Eight thousand.”
“I think it was more like ten, Carl,” Janice said. She said it in the voice of someone who would argue this small point to the bitter end.
“Maybe nine,” Carl said.
Janice rolled her eyes. “It was close to ten thousand dollars. Pete told me so himself.”
Carl looked at Olivia. “Isn’t nine close to ten?” he asked her.
“Either way,” Olivia said, “that’s a lot of clothes hangers.”
“Do you know why six is afraid of seven?” Kelsey asked no one in particular.
“The point is,” Janice said, “I think you two might hit it off.”
“Because seven eight nine,” Kelsey shouted. “Get it?”
“No romance necessarily,” Janice continued. “Go slow. You’ve both been burned.”
“Well,” Olivia said, “yes, in a way. He was burned by his ex-wife and I was burned by God.”
Everyone was silent.
Olivia realized that even Alex had stopped making noises out in the kitchen.
Then Kelsey said, “God burned you? Like with matches?”
“To tell you the truth,” Carl said, “I don’t think he’s even going to like you. He’s a nice guy. A regular nice guy.”
“Carl,” Janice said, “you’re making it sound like David wasn’t a nice guy.”
“No,” Olivia said, “he’s implying that I’m not a nice guy.”
“Gal,” Kelsey said. “Girls aren’t guys.”
“Will it hurt anybody if Pete and Olivia go to a movie?” Janice said, stretching her arms out like Christ on the cross.
“I’m just saying,” Carl mumbled.
Olivia stood up too fast, banging her knee on the screw that opened the middle of the table so that someday, if they ever ate in this room again, a leaf could be added.
“It’s late,” she said, though she had no job to go to in the morning, no husband waiting at home.
Janice looked stricken. “There’s cheesecake,” she said.
But Olivia was out of the dining room, moving through the kitchen, toward the Dutch doors that led out to the driveway and her car. The getaway car, she thought. Alex was in a crumpled heap on the floor of his playpen. Seeing him like that was the only thing that slowed Olivia down. She considered stopping and doing something. CPR, maybe? She wondered if it was too late for folic acid, and she made a mental note to get some for Ruby.
“We just keep him there,” Janice explained. “Otherwise, he’ll wake up when we pick him up, and then he’s awake all night.” She was right at Olivia’s heels. Somehow, she had retrieved the cheesecake from the refrigerator and was following Olivia, holding it out.
“How interesting,” Olivia said as she pushed her way outside.
The air smelled like pine trees and shit. Chicken shit, Olivia assumed, given the noise next door. The way Winnie’s air must smell in Rhinebeck. On the other side of Janice’s, a house resembling a castle was being built. Even in the dark, Olivia could make out turrets and large arched doorways. Her car looked familiar and safe.
“Thanks for dinner,” Olivia said, climbing into it. She breathed in its smell happily.
It was not until she had the headlights on, the car in reverse, that she saw Janice’s face peering in her window.
Reluctantly, Olivia rolled it down.
“He’s a nice guy,” Janice said, shoving the cheesecake at Olivia. “Pete.”
“I know,” Olivia said. “I remember. Big but not fat.” She backed away, the cheesecake sliding around on the seat beside her.