Authors: Laura Pedersen
“I feel bad for Bobbie Anne’s daughters,” Joey says while building a sandcastle, using the shells he’d collected as exterior wall reinforcement. “I wouldn’t want people saying things like that about my mom.”
Joey’s remark shocks Hayden into finally considering that Bobbie Anne’s line of work may not be as reasonable as he’d once insisted, that perhaps he hadn’t taken into account all the variables. He turns to Rosamond with a serious face and says, “Hmmm,” as if to indicate he’s going to rethink the matter.
“So Joey, do you still want to be a lion tamer when you grow up?” asks Rosamond, realizing that it’s time to change the subject.
“I want to be a catcher for the Mets!” says Joey, thrilled by her interest. “I’m going to signal all the pitches.” Joey could easily imagine himself traveling around the country as a baseball hero, going on talk shows, waving at large-breasted women wearing halter tops jumping up and down in the stands.
“Maybe you can be an inventor during the off-season,” suggests Hayden. “Tell Rosie about some of the great Scottish inventions.”
Joey recites from memory, “The Scots invented the telephone, bicycle, golf clubs, steam engine, continuous electric light, and the television.”
“Oh really?” Rosamond is genuinely impressed. “I thought the Americans—”
“The Americans!” Hayden harrumphs. “We Scots come up with it and then the Yanks make all the money and take all the credit. Just look at penicillin, antiseptic, color photography, and even Dolly the cloned sheep! And tell her the most important invention of all, Joey.”
“The thermos flask—so your whiskey doesn’t get hot in the sun,” Joey answers proudly.
Hayden takes his thermos from its place weighing down the corner of the blanket and raises it above his head as if it’s the Heisman Trophy.
“Uisga beatha,”
proclaims Hayden.
“That’s Gaelic for whiskey,” Joey translates, “and means ‘water of life.’ ”
Again Rosamond nods appreciatively at Joey’s display of knowledge, though she’s not entirely sure whether she should be amused or concerned by the direction his studies can take him under Hayden’s roguish tutelage.
Joey glows from Rosamond’s expression of admiration and makes an effort to earn even more. “There were two presidents with Scottish roots—James Monroe and Woodrow Wilson. Same for the astronaut Neil Armstrong and Allan Pinkerton, the founder of the detective agency.”
The recitation achieves its intended goal and Rosamond leans over and hugs him. “Just wait until school starts and your teachers find out how smart you are!”
Meanwhile, Hayden is envisioning how Joey will get pummeled by the other boys if the teachers take too much of a shine to him, especially since he’s starting middle school and will be in the youngest class. “It’s important to be smart Joe-Joe, but remember never to show off.” He doesn’t add the part about getting plastered for being a brownnoser. “Only respond when the teachers call on you, even if you know the right answer. Do’ an’ go a wavin’ your arm around like a flag on a windy day.”
On the way home Hayden sees a sign for a nearby animal shelter and pulls off the highway. Strolling down the rows of kennels he likes the look of a St. Bernard-ish mutt. “Mom’s going to kill you,” says Joey, who’s already fallen in love with a teacup poodle.
“Joe-Joe, how are you ever going to learn to steal second base if you always have one foot on first? Sometimes it’s better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.”
Rosamond calls them over to see a lively Irish setter named Red, but Joey returns to the apricot poodle. From the sign on its cage door the little puppy has apparently been given up due to a lack of appreciation for the more established family cat. “Joey, that’s a dust mop, not a dog.” Hayden scowls at the orangish ball of fluff.
“Please, Grandpa, this is the one I want! And next Sunday is my birthday.”
“How about a German shepherd or a golden retriever? Maybe we should look around a wee bit more—check the newspaper.”
“No, I want a little dog that can come with me when I go places. And one that doesn’t shed so Mom will like it.”
It’s becoming obvious to Hayden that Joey has not only inherited his powers of persuasion but some of his determination as well. He rolls his eyes at Rosamond, who is now playing with the carrot-colored puppy.
“We’ll name her Ginger,” Joey announces while Hayden pays for the dog and signs the papers.
“Just what I need, one more woman around the house,” grumbles Hayden.
“They make very good watchdogs,” the desk attendant says helpfully. “When I was in prison I asked a lot of the burglars what the best dog to get was, thinking they’d say a rottweiler or a Doberman, but they all said poodles and Yorkshire terriers.”
“Well, a good watchdog is certainly something we can use as long as Joey’s mother insists on dating,” Hayden agrees.
chapter thirty-nine
I
t takes two days for a hysterical Diana to calm down and acknowledge that Joey isn’t going to die from having a dog. And once she does, she finds it impossible not to dote on the sweet little poodle. However, adjusting to the rest of Hayden’s antics is not nearly as easy.
When Diana arrives home from work on Thursday, Hayden reminds her that the Greyfriars Gang is coming over that evening and this time he doesn’t want her around for the gathering. “The boys and I are sick and tired o’ you chaperonin’ us—tryin’ to cut off our licker, keep down the telly, and hide the bagpipes.”
“
Me?
It’s the police who keep coming over to break things up when I’m
not
around!” she scolds. But it’s not the police Diana worries about so much as the whiskey Hayden consumes when he’s with his buddies, and that it’s sending him to an even earlier grave. “I’m staying!” She defiantly slices up an orange and presses it into the juice machine to make sure he understands that’s her final word on the matter.
But Hayden’s anger boils over and he knocks the juice machine into the sink, much to her surprise. “You’re not my wife, dammit!”
“No, I’m not. I’m your daughter!” Diana rescues her precious juicer from the sink and checks to make sure it’s not broken.
“The last thing the Brooklyn police care about is some noise coming from my living room,” says Hayden. “It’s that bloody Mrs. Trummel always complainin’ and makin’ them come by because one of her girls works as a cop. And I’m sick of her, too! I’m tired of all you women. Tonight I want you and Rosie to go off to a nice dinner and then to one of those female movies where they all run around cryin’ and tryin’ to find a cure for a baby with a rare disease.” From out of his pocket Hayden digs five crisp twenty-dollar bills, a monumental amount of money for him, and stuffs them into her hand. “My treat!” he barks.
Diana defiantly crumples his money and hurls it onto the countertop. “I have no interest in going to a restaurant for dinner when I enjoy cooking and can make a better meal right here.”
“You think I do’an’ know that you purposely cook us food we like so you can keep an eye on us? That’s a little trick you picked up from yer mother.”
“Well this is my house now, I have the paperwork to prove it, and to get me out of it
you’ll
have to call the police! Meanwhile, for dinner I’m planning braised lamb with rosemary, Cullen skink soup made from smoked haddock, and mashed potato. I’m sure Paddy, Duncan, Alisdair, and Hugh will be more than happy to enjoy it.
You
can go out for pizza if you want!”
Hayden hasn’t possessed much of an appetite lately, but braised lamb with rosemary . . . he could already smell it! Mary used to serve mint jelly on the side and make croutons out of fresh bread for the soup. But Hayden refuses to let on that he’s interested in the meal. “Your Scottish grandparents are turnin’ over in their graves hearin’ the disrespect American-raised children have for their parents. I just want you to know that!”
“You, the big atheist, want me to believe that your parents are looking down on us from heaven and then feel guilty about trying to keep you alive.”
Rosamond is waiting outside the door and only enters the kitchen when she senses the exclamation points have been exhausted and the argument is winding down. Diana and Hayden regularly engage in rows and Rosamond has observed that having bystanders around only seems to encourage them. It was easier for the defiant Hayden and the equally stubborn Diana to accept defeat without an audience.
“Oh-uh.” Hayden grasps for an explanation when he sees Rosamond. He doesn’t want her to think he’s being unreasonable, especially since Rosamond and Diana appear to get along so well together. “I was just askin’ Diana if she’d be so kind as to make some extra supper tonight since I’ve invited the boys over. We can’t get enough of her fine cookin’.”
“Yes,” agrees Rosamond. “Diana’s a marvelous cook. And I’d better help if she’s going to make enough for everyone.”
“Then I’d better leave you girls to it!”
Diana exchanges knowing looks with Rosamond and begins organizing the ingredients for the meal.
“Dad, run to the Italian bakery with Joey and get some fresh bread for the croutons.”
“Righty-o,” says Hayden with unexpected enthusiasm. “Always happy to help.” He’s already thinking about the chocolate éclairs.
Later that evening the men eat in the living room with plates balanced on their laps and watch
Rob Roy
for the millionth time, while a frantic Ginger races about the room scarfing up anything that even briefly strays from plate, fork, or mouth.
In the kitchen Diana teaches Rosamond how to make a Dundee cake with spices and dried fruits and then topped off with almonds. Joey sits at the table polishing his school shoes with WD-40, the way Hayden had showed him, insisting that it’s cheaper and better than shoe polish.
“I always wanted a pair of patent leather shoes as a girl,” says Rosamond. “But the nuns claimed that the boys would be able to see our underwear in the reflection.”
“Is that true?” Joey holds up his shoe to check for his reflection, as if this piece of information might open the door to a whole new hobby.
“Actually, it was probably just one of those old nun’s tales, like communion doesn’t count if you have gum in your mouth.”
“I want to eat dinner with Grandpa and watch the movie,” complains Joey. He’s pretty sure there’s sex in it, because even though Diana doesn’t like him to watch violence she doesn’t forbid it. Sex is another matter. “Why can’t I watch the movie?”
“You can’t watch the movie because you’re eleven, that’s why.”
“I’ll be twelve in a few days!”
“Well
Rob Roy
is rated R! It’s bad enough the way you and your grandfather read those gardener’s catalogs.” Diana says this in her best “the things I put up with around here” voice.
“Gardener’s catalogs?” Rosamond is curious.
Diana smiles as if it’s against her better judgment, but she can’t help it because at the end of the day Hayden makes her laugh. “Oh, go ahead. Show Rosamond.”
Joey digs a glossy color catalog out from under a pile of newspapers near the basement door and randomly opens it to a middle page. Then he clears his throat and begins reading in a throaty voice as if he’s narrating luscious pornography, obviously something picked up from Hayden: “ ‘The Bristol onion demonstrates a healthy erect green stalk on the surface and matures into a variety with excellent smooth skin cover and very uniform well-shaped bulbs, hard when ripe, with a delicate flavor.’ ” He is careful to emphasize all the words that lend themselves to a double meaning the way Hayden does.
At first Rosamond blushes and looks down at the table but Diana’s hearty laughter puts her at ease. Rosamond joins in and soon the two women are laughing so hard that they need to stop decorating the dessert and Joey is thoroughly enjoying being the center of attention. He certainly has Hayden’s ability to entertain, thinks Diana. Maybe she should enroll him in some drama classes offered over at the Y. That would be safe, so long as they don’t allow duels and that sort of nonsense.
When Joey finishes the Bristol onion and the Guatemalan red pepper Diana says, “Do the strawberry.”
Joey turns the page to his mother’s favorite. In a good imitation of Hayden’s brogue he slowly purrs: “ ‘The strawberry Eros are a bright, firm fragrant fruit with a voluptuous conical shape and when ripe deliver a tantalizing sweetness. They have superior yield and mature quickly with proper care and are surprisingly disease resistant.’ ”
By now all three of them are convulsed with giggles. “Here,” Joey says and passes the catalog to Rosamond. “You do one.”
“No, no, I couldn’t.” Rosamond is laughing so hard that tears are streaming down her cheeks. She takes a sip of tea but only proceeds to choke on it so the liquid runs out her nose, which makes Diana and Joey hit the table with their hands and lean back in their chairs. Diana holds her stomach with one hand as if she’s about to become ill from laughing so hard. Rosamond finally composes herself, takes the catalog from him and in a serious voice begins: “ ‘This exotic black beauty aubergine is rich dark purple with pear-shaped fruits that are springy to the touch and taste.’ ” But her cheeks quickly redden and they all burst into gales of laughter before she can go any further.
While the women finish drying the dishes Joey takes the Ouija board from the pantry.
“I haven’t seen one of those since I was a kid!” exclaims Rosamond.
Joey and Diana sit across from each another at the kitchen table with their fingertips resting on the molded plastic roamer with the gold pointer. They ask questions and then wait for the subway to rumble underneath the neighborhood and the pointer to head toward “yes” or “no,” spell out an answer, or skate over to a number. Diana asks the board if Joey’s new teacher will be nice and the pointer eventually glides to
Y
for yes. And then Joey asks, “Will Dad take me camping this summer?”
Diana lifts her fingers from the cream-colored triangle and looks up. “I don’t know, Joey. Your dad is pretty busy doing construction work up in Providence so he can pay off some debts.”
“But he promised me for my birthday—”