21 — Late
October 21, 1938
"We'd like another round, if you please."
Behind the bar, Marya smiled and nodded, then fetched the drinks. Nunzia gathered them and carried them, a bit sloppily, back to the table.
"I said it before and I'll say it again," she muttered.
"You can't trust Dom as far as you can throw him, and none of us can even begin to try, so..."
"It'll be fine," Carmine assured her.
"All be fine."
"Fine?" Burt clucked.
"But your poor arm..."
"Look, I told you, Dom's pulled my arm out of joint before. It always gets better after some doctoring and rest. Besides, this time, he did it in the process of getting me away from danger. I look at this, therefore, as a positive."
Burt went quiet and sulky in his seat. Carmine sipped his beer. Across the table, Nunzia and Pauline were silent. The Gateshead was quiet this evening, and the four at the little table found themselves wishing they weren't the only customers. A little hum of background conversation would have served to cover the gloomy silence.
After ages, Burt looked up, started to say something, but then clapped his lips shut as he saw Marya approaching from behind the bar.
"We are closing early," she said, "but Nika and I want to invite you all upstairs for a late supper, if you'd like?"
The four exchanged looks, then nodded and, as a body, rose and followed their hostess. Burt insisted on helping to rinse out their final glasses, and then they all followed Marya through the stock room, up the stairs, and into the building above the bar.
They were all occasional patrons of the Gateshead, and knew its owners well, but none of them had ever considered what upstairs might be like. It was a pleasant revelation when, after bypassing the ground floor, they were led still further up to a very cozily furnished apartment.
"Place is lovely," Burt smiled.
"Thank you. Nika and I work hard on this place."
There was a whiff of Old World about the decorations and furnishings, but not in the stale, frozen way Carmine and Nunzia knew from Papa's rooms in their childhood home. This was all home-like, if old fashioned, and not a bit ostentatious.
"As you're all rather like friends," Marya said, "and you're the only ones to bother coming 'round on our first night open again, well, we've decided you deserve a treat."
She invited them all to have a seat in the parlor, and Nika turned up around then, wiping her hands on a towel before shaking hands with all of them.
"Well, Burt. Carmine, what in hell's happened to your arm?"
"Accident," he demurred.
"Too bad. Too bad. Recent?"
"Last night."
"Good Christ!"
"Don't blaspheme," Marya chided, disappearing into another room.
"Well, anyway," Nika said, sitting, "you taking care of him, Burt?"
"I'm making an effort. You know this one, though. Stubborn enough for a whole battalion of mules."
Nika threw her head back in laughter, then noted Nunzia and Pauline's closeness.
"Well, don't tell me you two..." she began.
"We've been seeing each other," Nunzia confirmed.
"Ah, well, I am behind on my gossip."
Minutes and minutes passed in pleasant enough conversation, and Carmine found himself distracted for a while from the pain of his arm.
Marya returned with a huge tray and, waving off assistance from Nika, settled it on a little Chinese table and began to fuss about, pouring tea into Russian-style glasses and handing it around followed by a plate of little cookies.
"An entrée," she smiled.
The tea was strong, slightly smoky, and very hot. Carmine took a sip but then was distracted by a framed photo resting on the Chinese table's twin in the corner.
"You like my brother's portrait?" Marya asked.
"Never knew you had a brother," Carmine shrugged.
"Oh, yes. He came with me to America. But he was always sickly, and he passed away many years ago now."
"'m sorry."
The boy in the portrait was slim and sad-eyed, but a hint of a gentle smile curved his lips. He didn't look as though he should be dead. He looked as though he should still be around, maybe living a happy and quiet life somewhere lovely.
For a moment, Carmine wished he could trade his own frantic and painful situation for the peace of the grave, and switch things so Marya's brother were still around to live a good life. A bad for a good. Seemed a decent trade.
After the tea had been drunk, they all repaired to a cramped dining room, where they ate and ate and ate — only interrupted once by Marya and Nika's six-year-old child — until they could eat no more.
"Well," Nika said, as the meal wound down, "thanks for helping us reopen the old Gateshead in style, eh?"
"I'm sure business will pick up tomorrow," Nunzia nodded.
"Might. Anyhow, you were all here. That's good. Old friends, or at least acquaintances, and a fine meal. And love."
At that last word, Nika slipped her arm around Marya's waist, and Carmine found himself resting his good arm across Burt's shoulders.
Maybe life wasn't so bad after all.
Posted Oct 21, 2019, 7:30 PM UTC · edited