I decided to surprise Francine Saturday night by making reservations at La Mia Pappa instead of tweening a few balls at Naponiello Nick's Bowl-a-Rama. I invited my buddy, Dan and his wife Kitty, to come along.

The hostess showed us to a candlelit table in the Garden Room.

We started with antipasto and a bottle of red wine.

"Look," said Francine. "There's Reginald and Barbara."

Reginald and Barbara Atwater. They lived on our block in a neat white house framed by a perfect lawn. It looked like they combed the grass and trimmed it with scissors. They were Francine's co-workers at the Public Library.

"He's an odd duck," said Dan. "And old enough to be her father."

"She probably married him for the European vacations," said Kitty, elbowing Dan and winking at Francine.

Reginald was thin-lipped and staunchly British. He looked like he had been brought up on tin porridge, tea, and Shakespeare. Barbara appeared meek and asexual, with her mouse-brown hair, plain face, and a long neck, which reminded me of Alice in Wonderland after eating the mushroom. She was very opinionated, over-pronouncing her words, as if addressing a group of hopeless morons. When she moved her lips, it made her silky bleached mustache even more noticeable.

"They're holding hands," said Kitty, mildly envious.

"Every day Barbara slips downstairs a few minutes ahead of him at lunchtime. She unpacks her wicker basket of thin cucumber sandwiches and cream soups. Afterwards they sip herbal tea and make plans for the evening," said Francine dryly.

"Maybe he's a real tiger between the sheets," I chuckled. Francine frowned.

"I did some re-modeling for them in the summer," said Dan, curling the ends of his mustache with his fingers. "Might be tough in twin beds and separate rooms."

"Oh my God," said Kitty, her red lips stuck in the shape of an "O."

"I can't believe it," said Francine. "With his velvety accent and the way she looks at him."

"Why didn't you tell me," Kitty hissed at Dan. "Maybe one is a guestroom."

"No, that's not the case," explained Dan. "Her room is pink and flowery, with a twin-sized canopy bed. The closet was full of her clothes, which she had to move so I could frame-up the closet door."

"And Sir Reginald's room?" I asked.

"Twin bed, nightstand, a bookcase full of poetry books. No TVs in the entire house."

"I've got the answer," I said. "Green card."

"Whenever she comes back from England, she has a fake British accent," Francine commented as she and Kitty walked toward the pasta buffet.

"That ain't the whole story," Dan whispered. "Barbara-Plain-and-Tall made a pass at me and asked me to call her sometime."

 

First published: February 2005
comments to the writer: Knob'sWriter.iceflow.com