—
CHRISTINA IS RETRIEVING her coat from the cloakroom when an attractive silver-haired man says, “Hello.”
“Hello,” she answers.
“I went to school with your sister…”
He doesn’t have to finish. It’s the Sewing Machine Man’s son, Zak Galanos. He seems nice enough, still teaching, though not in Elizabeth. His wife is an elementary school principal. They have two children. This was the life her mother wanted for her. A decent Greek husband, a couple of kids, a house in Cranford or Westfield. She never dreamed her life would turn out so different. A life of such wealth it embarrasses her. It’s laughable how her family’s attitude toward her changed as her fortunes grew. She’s heard her nephews refer to her as their rich aunt Christina from Vegas—and sure, she helped put them through college, helped Athena open a new store at the Short Hills mall. She made sure her parents were comfortable at their retirement home, and when it was needed, she paid for round-the-clock care.
She came for her mother’s funeral three years ago, and her father’s, a year later. Even her parents accepted having an Irish son-in-law. They couldn’t resist their four beautiful granddaughters, the oldest, Nia, named for her mother, born when Christina was just nineteen, the bundle of joy who kept Jack out of Korea. It wasn’t until five years later that they were ready for more children, three more girls in a row. She convinced Mama and Baba to come to Las Vegas for Nia’s eighteenth birthday. Sent the plane for them, with IRISH JACK painted on the side. They were impressed. She took them to see their favorite entertainers—Dean Martin, Liberace and the Greek chanteuse Nana Mouskouri—made sure they had ringside tables, everyone making a fuss over Irish Jack’s in-laws. And when her mother needed an emergency root canal, Dr. O was there to hold her hand as the young, gifted Dr. Kyros, a Greek dentist, Mama, performed the procedure. Dr. Kyros was married to a former chorus girl and together they made tall, beautiful children with perfect teeth.
Okay, she’ll fly back with Jack today but that won’t stop her from worrying about Miri.
—
MASON IS HOSTING a small reception for Gaby and her family in his hotel suite, at 5 p.m. He invites Miri. She’s the first to arrive and is embarrassed. She’s changed into pants and a sweater, western boots, the cashmere shawl draped over her shoulders. She feels more like herself. She’s flossed, brushed her teeth and gargled with mouthwash. Ever the dentist’s wife. She checks out the room, looks out the window. Anything to avoid sitting down facing him.
He can tell she’s uncomfortable and says, “I’m sure the others will be here any minute.”
He smiles at her, looking into her eyes. But she quickly looks away. “Do you come to Elizabeth often?” she asks.
“Almost never. It’s changed, and not for the better.”
“I heard Janet closed.”
“In ’62, when the state eliminated orphanages. End of an era. It’s been condemned since the seventies. Kids break in at night to party. Makes me sad.”
He offers her a glass of wine.
“Just water,” she says.
“I read your piece on Longy,” he says, handing her the water glass.
She laughs. “I was a senior at college. Sold it to the Las Vegas Sun. A heady experience. They hired me based on that story.”
“I like your theory that he never would have hanged himself, that it was a gangland slaying disguised as suicide.”
“I still believe that.”
“Jack sent other stories, too. The one about the fire at the MGM Grand.”
“I don’t really specialize in disaster, but when there’s a disaster, like my uncle Henry, I’m there.” That was the disaster that led Andy into forensic dentistry, but she doesn’t tell that to Mason.
“Vegas must be a good place for stories,” Mason says.
“If you like weird stories, it’s great.”
“Well, I’m proud of you.” Again, he looks into her eyes. Again, she looks away. Gulps down the whole glass of water. She’s saved by a knock on the door. Gaby and her family, and a few minutes later, the boys from Janet. And Phil Stein.
“Oh my god,” she says. “You’re Phil Stein, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“I loved your mother.”
“And she loved you. Never stopped talking about you, even after you moved away.”
“Is she…” It’s awkward, asking if a parent is still living.
He shakes his head. “She died years ago. Complications of diabetes and a stroke.”
“I’m sorry. She was so kind to me.”
“She was a good person. I’m still trying to convince my sister of that.”
“Mother-daughter relationships can be difficult,” Miri says.
“Tell me about it. I gave Mom a dog for her sixtieth birthday. My sister almost killed me. The dog reminded Mom of Fred. Remember Fred?”
“We have a dog named Fred,” Miri tells him, “and another called Goldie.”