Spoonbenders

Hardly anyone talked as they ate. Loretta, usually in a good mood, seemed subdued. Buddy’s silence was no mystery, but Teddy’s was. He’d brought home the pizza—a pair of Giordano’s, thick as motorcycle tires, not the crispy style that he’d been rhapsodizing about earlier—but wouldn’t say where else he’d been for the rest of the two hours since he’d left the house. He was distracted, and picked at his cake as if he couldn’t decide what it was.

Frankie’s silence, however, was aggressive, peppered with grunts that begged for someone to ask what was the matter. Irene already knew. Two weeks ago Frankie had taken her and Dad out to dinner at the Pegasus, all on Frankie’s dime, he said, because he had some fantastic news to share. It wasn’t until they were done with the meal that he came clean. His fantastic news was that Teddy and Irene could become distributors in something called UltraLife, which he claimed was the fastest-growing multilevel marketing company in the United States.

At the Pegasus, Teddy had said, “When you say multilevel marketing—”

“He means pyramid scheme,” Irene had said.

That comment pretty much ruined the rest of the night. And the rest of Frankie’s month, evidently. But why did he think he could convince Irene or Teddy to invest in such an obvious scam? Irene was broke, and Teddy, though he had plenty of money (from sources he would not identify), refused to bankroll his kids. He’d grown up poor, and clawed his way out of poverty on his own, which in his mind was the ultimate test of evolutionary fitness. How many times had he told his children: Never lend chips to someone who can’t buy their way into the pot.

Irene blamed her father for Frankie’s crooked little heart. Dad had filled his head with tales of gambling and gangsters, schemes and scams, con men and ex-cons. On the road, he’d sit eight-year-old Frankie on a hotel bed and teach him how to do a false cut. (Not Irene, though, not a single card trick. That stuff wasn’t for girls.) He’d constantly say to Frankie, You’re going to go far, kid! And Frankie would eat it up. He’d spend hours trying—and failing—to levitate pencils and spare change and paper clips. By the time the family got booked onto TV, Frankie was planning his solo career as a Vegas headliner, despite having no ability with either psychokinesis or sleight of hand. It wasn’t until Mom’s funeral that he showed a hint of talent, and by then it was too late to help the act.

Once Mom died, there were no adults driving the bus. Teddy closed his eyes and refused to take the wheel. Frankie became a free-range malcontent, and Buddy became, well, Buddy.

Matty said, “We got a computer.”

He wasn’t looking at Mary Alice, who sat beside him, but that’s who he was addressing. She didn’t seem to notice. She stared at her uneaten cake as if it were an unmoving clock.

Frankie squinted at Irene. “You can afford a computer?”

“I didn’t buy it. Buddy did.”

“Buddy?”

“I set it up downstairs,” Matty said. “If, uh, anybody wants to look at it.”

Frankie turned to his brother. “What the hell do you need with a computer?”

Buddy sought out Irene’s eyes with a classic Buddy look: mystified and sorrowful, like a cocker spaniel who’d finally eviscerated his great enemy, only to find everyone angry and taking the side of the couch pillow.

“He bought it for Matty,” Irene said, even though she was not at all sure about that. “He’s going to pay him back, when he gets a job.”

“I am?” Matty said.

“He can’t sit around all day,” Teddy said. It was the first thing he’d said since the cake came out. Thanks for that, Dad.

“I could help Uncle Buddy,” Matty said.

“Ha,” Frankie said. “Have you seen the way he works? I’m surprised he hasn’t electrocuted himself. Keep your distance, kid. It’s bad enough Buddy’s going to kill himself.”

Buddy’s eyes widened.

“Figure of speech,” Loretta said kindly.

“No, he’ll work with me,” Frankie said.

“At the phone company?” Irene asked.

“He’ll be my apprentice.”

Loretta said, “Maybe you shouldn’t promise anything until—”

“Nobody tells me who rides in my van,” Frankie said. “It’s settled. He starts Monday.”

—

Irene lay on top of the covers, exhausted but unable to quiet her brain. When she’d gone to bed that night she’d plummeted into unconsciousness, and had disappeared into two hours of dreamless sleep before being hauled up into the waking world, her thoughts wrapped up like seaweed on a fishhook.