The contiguous towns of Brockton, Binghamton and Bethesda in Fairfield County benefited enormously from their proximity to New York City. From there money flowed like a river making it one of the most affluent areas in the country.
Prosperity however brought not only wealth, but also problems; a fact that was amply demonstrated in the lives of those privileged enough to live there.
As a result substance abuse, domestic violence, infidelity, and divorce flourished side-by-side with material success and limitless opportunities.
I myself was born into a family through which alcoholism did not merely run; it galloped. As a result, my father – who over the years kept a series of mistresses, nearly died in a car accident while driving drunk, on occasion hit my mother, and was absent for weeks and sometimes months at a time – struggled constantly to maintain his reputation. In retaliation, my mother took lovers of her own, drank heavily – though always at home – and often threatened him with divorce, which at one point almost came to fruition. In spite of everything however, they eventually reconciled, and thereafter led a relatively stable life together, during which they not only tried to ignore the past, but also expected me to do the same.
But that was not to be.
My life as a misfit began long before I entered elementary school. By the third grade I was not only painfully shy and socially awkward, but also developed a chronic stutter, which made it so difficult to talk that I often didn’t even bother trying.
And though over the years my stutter gradually disappeared, I remained a perennial outsider. The only exception being a brief period of time during the eighth and ninth grades, when due to the sponsorship of my cousin – who himself committed suicide before the age twenty – I was accepted into the ranks of The Group; so-called because they were considered the coolest kids in school.
It was then that I met, and for the first time in my life fell in love, with a girl named Angela Barici. The circumstances of the situation however made anything more than a casual friendship impossible. The prettiest girl in The Group, she was already involved in a well-recognized relationship with a boy named Gary, who was the undisputed leader of its male contingent, a fact, which together with my own lack of self-confidence and fear of rejection, placed her beyond my reach.
Nonetheless, adolescent love being the fragile and fickle thing it is, there came a time when for reasons I never fully understood, but around which rumors of two-timing swirled, Gary dumped her. For Angela it was a social wound that quickly led to her exclusion from any gatherings of which Gary was a part, and thus by extension, from The Group as a whole.
It was then that Angela began paying attention to me. Sensing my vulnerability, she used her charm and evident knowledge of my feelings for her to manipulate me into asking her to a school dance, which had the foreseeable, but unforeseen effect of placing me in a tenuous position with Gary due to the fact that I had attended it with his former girlfriend. Blinded by Angela’s attentions, I then compounded my error by inviting her to a party at which all the members of The Group were in attendance.
Abandoning me at the door, Angela spent the evening working the room until by the time the party was over she and Gary were a couple again. My fate was sealed. Shunned by Gary I soon became a non-person who was forced to fade into the background until finally I disappeared completely.
Once again an outcast, high school became a desert of loneliness and isolation I tried so hard to simply endure that by the time it was over, I could gratefully barely remember it.
As for school itself, I had always been an indifferent student, who managed get from one year to the next with satisfactory, but unimpressive marks until at last I entered the eleventh grade.
It was there I met an English teacher named Mr. Beckmann.
All of the teachers I’d had before him treated the subject matter they taught as if it was self-contained, and thus unrelated to the rest of the curriculum. Mr. Beckman however took a different view. He thought of all knowledge, all fields of study as being interconnected, and therefore inseparable parts of a nexus that encompassed all human endeavors.
For me it was a revelation, the profundity of which changed my attitude towards intellectual pursuits so deeply that I could never take them frivolously again. As a result I became a serious student. My grades soared. And when it came time for me to take my college entrance exam, I scored in the top percentile.
From there I applied to, and was accepted by Columbia University. Four years later I graduated with honors, as a consequence of which I was able to enroll at Yale Law, where I was due to begin classes the following fall. In the interim I took a job at a small, but prestigious law firm in the hope that it would give me a leg-up in what I knew would be very much a race to the top.
Since I often sat at a desk for a good part of the day, I made it a habit to take my dog out for a walk soon after I got home.
And so, as I did on most days when the weather cooperated, I took off my suit, and putting on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, clipped the leash onto Terri’s collar and walked briskly down the driveway to the street. Taking a right down Forest Drive and then another at the first corner, I then ambled slowly down Old Orchard Road, enjoying the warmth of the late afternoon sun, while Terri eagerly sniffed the weeds that grew along the roadside and stopped every few minutes to leave reminders for the other dogs that he lived in the neighborhood too.
It was the same route I followed everyday, because going in the other direction would soon lead me to Elizabeth Drive, and I had no desire to go there. Not because it was an unpleasant place to walk, but because the second house on the left belonged to the Barici family. And I wanted to stay as far away from it, and them, as possible.
For a time my strategy worked well. On one particular day however, my luck ran out.
As its name implied, Old Orchard had once been a farm road with groves of apple trees on either side. Straight, but in some places dangerously narrow, pedestrians had to be especially careful of traffic in order to avoid becoming casualties of the drivers who sometimes travelled it as though they were certain that everyone would simply get out of their way.
Hearing the sound of an approaching car, I pulled Terri close, and stepped off the road to let it pass. Within moments it was close enough for me to make out the face of the person behind the wheel. My heart sank.
A minute later the car screeched to a stop, and I was once again face-to-face with Angela Barici, who sat smiling at me through the driver’s window.
To my disappointment she looked as lovely as ever.
“Well hello,” she greeted me cheerfully. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”
“Surprise, surprise,” I replied with a forced enthusiasm.
“Alessia,” she said, turning to her younger sister who was sitting in the passenger seat. “You remember Alan Bateman don’t you?”
“Yeah, sure I do,” she answered with a sarcastic grin, which I took to mean that she knew of my history with Angela.
“I heard you were at Columbia,” Angela continued in the same bubbly manner.
“Graduated this spring.”
“Congratulations. So what are doing now?”
“Working at Jacobs, Swenson and Sprague.”
“Thinking about a career in law?”
“More than just thinking, I’m starting at Yale Law in the fall.”
“Yale? You must smart.”
“Not always smart enough,” I said, in a thinly veiled allusion to our past. “So what are you doing?” I asked, hoping the answer would be something she would not be proud of divulging.
“I’m an assistant to the VP of Marketing at Lawrence Frasier.”
“Investments?” I inquired, a bit incredulously. “I ran into Laura Reynolds a couple of years ago and she told me you majoring in education.”
“I was.”
“So how did you get into investments?”
“I’m a very ambitious woman.”
“Some things never change.”
A brief, but awkward silence ensued.
“Well, I really should be going,” Angela said abruptly, thus relieving me of the necessity of terminating the conversation myself.
“Me too.”
“You know you really should drop by some time and see the renovations,” she added, blithely. “We’re remodeling the house, and building a cottage in the back that’s just for the two of us, aren’t we Alessia?”
“Sure are,” she concurred.
“I’ll make it a point to,” I replied, intending nothing of the kind.
“See you later then,” Angela concluded with an offhanded wave as she pulled quickly away.
A moment later they were gone.
With a sigh of gratitude for my deliverance I then turned, and saw Terri squat down in the weeds to relieve himself.
“You are so right,” I said aloud as I watched him do what seemed to sum up my feelings about what had just happened. “You are so right.”
A few days later I was poking around the kitchen looking for a late night snack when I overheard my parents talking in the living room.
“Everybody was asking where you were,” my father said matter-of-factly.
“I’m glad they noticed I wasn’t there,” my mother replied.
“What do you expect? Besides being on the Board of Directors, you’re also one of the Founder’s Club’s biggest boosters. So when you don’t show up for the annual dinner people are bound to wonder why.”
“What did you tell them?”
“That you were working late on the Donohue wedding.”
“Did they know about it?”
“Of course. A wedding that big, everyone knows.”
“I’m glad. It’s good for business.”
“As if you need more business. You’re already the most popular caterer in town.”
“A little extra buzz never hurts.”
“Well you’re certainly getting that.”
“Was it crowded?”
“Very. I saw Bob and Nancy Keller.”
“Oh? How is she doing?”
“Her foot’s still a little sore from the operation, but she’s doing okay.”
“Good. You know we really ought to have them over soon. Now that it’s warm again, you can make something on the grill and we’ll eat out on the patio.”
“Sounds good to me. Oh, you know who else I ran in to?”
“Who?”
“Frank and Juliana Barici.”
“Yuck,” my mother said in a disgusted voice. “I don’t like those people.”
“I know you don’t.”
“Then why did you bring them up?”
“Because I like to hear you say ‘yuck’.”
“Thanks.”
“Gotcha,” my father replied with an amused chuckle.
The mention of Angela’s parents caught my attention. Because although I didn’t care one way or the other about Mrs. Barici, I did not merely dislike Frank, I hated him. Even now, after so many years, the memory of how he used to mock me when he summoned Angela to the phone to take my calls still haunted me.
“By the way, have you driven passed their house lately?”
“Yes.”
“Then you must have noticed the renovations.”
“They’re kind of hard to miss.”
“I wonder where Frank got the money? I heard he’s having trouble again.”
“Wow, you really are plugged into the rumor mill.”
“I’m a caterer,” my mother responded with verbal shrug. “Sooner or later I hear it all.”
“Well he didn’t borrow it. At least not from anybody around here.”
“Ah, the banker’s network.”
“You have your sources and I have mine.”
“Kind of makes you wonder how he can afford it though doesn’t it?”
“The same way he affords his cars, his vacations, and those weddings for his daughters. He borrows it when times are bad, and pays it back when times are good. The problem is he never gets ahead.”
“Well I hope he keeps it up with the weddings anyway. He’s only has two daughters left, and considering the fact that I didn’t get the first three, I’d like to get at least one of them.”
“Oh, speaking of money, guess who else was there?”
“Who?”
“Larry Frasier.”
Because of his reputation, as well as the fact that Angela told me she was now working for him, the mention of Larry Fraser’s name piqued my interest even more. The founder, president and CEO of Lawrence Frasier Investment Options, he was not only a very wealthy man – who had had a succession of high profile marriages, and even higher profile divorces – he also evidently enjoyed scandal, and took great pleasure in his reputation as a womanizer.
“My God, another one I can’t stand. Who was he with this time?”
“I don’t remember, some young blond, named Jenna or Jessica or something.”
“So tell me which is she, a model slash actress, or an actress slash model?”
“Who remembers? Anyway, we barely spoke, he was just there to put in his annual appearance and make the rounds. You know, to see, but mostly be seen.”
“Ugh, Frank Barici and Larry Frasier, almost makes glad I didn’t go.”
“Well you do have to admit, Larry puts on one hell of a show.”
“Oh spare me,” my mother said through a sigh. “And don’t you dare laugh at me again.”
Quietly leaving the kitchen, I then went upstairs to my bedroom.
“You know,” I thought to myself as I closed the door behind me. “Maybe I will go over there and take a look around. After all, there’s nothing any of them can do or say to hurt me now. It might even be entertaining.”
The following Sunday, I hooked Terri’s leash to his collar, and walked the quarter mile or so to Elizabeth Drive. I didn’t anticipated how I’d feel once I arrived.
The last time I was there was nine years earlier, when I picked up Angela to take her the party where she made a fool of me. For several long moments I stood looking down the driveway as the shame and embarrassment of that now long ago night once more washed over me. Indeed it was a memory so painful, so overwhelming that I almost left. Suddenly feeling however as though going there was some sort of test of character, I instead gathered myself and walked steadfastly towards the house.
Although there were plenty of building materials stacked on the lawn, because it was a Sunday there were no workman about, which gave the place an almost deserted look. The only exception being several cars parked near the garage, one of which was a vintage Bentley with vanity license plates that read ”LFIO.”
Deciding that with so many cars in the driveway someone must be home, I was walking towards the front door when I heard the sound of laughter coming from around back. And so, remembering that that was where Angela said the new cottage was being built; I instead headed down a brick-lined path that led in that direction.
Just as I rounded the corner, I stopped dead in my tracks. There, about fifty yards away, was a man I’d never met, but whose picture I had seen many times before. It was Larry Frasier. Standing between two women who I immediately recognized as Angela and Alessia Barici, he had one arm around each of their shoulders, while they in turn, held onto him by the waist.
Unable to turn away, I stood for several minutes and watched as they spoke, laughed, and every now and then kissed each other warmly on the lips.
At last, noticing that Terri was becoming restless, I backed slowly out of sight, and turning away, walked quickly back down the driveway to the road.
The next day I was sitting at my desk when my phone rang. Reaching into the breast pocket of my jacket, I took it out and glanced down at the screen to see who was calling. What I saw surprised me.
“Hello,” I said in a deliberately casual tone.
“Hello Alan, this is Angela.”
“Oh hello Angela. How are you today?”
“I’m fine, how about you?”
“Not bad for a Monday morning. By the way, how did you get my number?”
“Your mother gave it to me.”
“Ah,” I murmured softly, inwardly cursing my mother for having given it to her. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I wanted to ask if you’d come to dinner this week.”
“Dinner?”
“Yes, with my family and me.”
“Why?” I replied incredulously.
“Well, I told my parents that I ran into you the other day, and when I explained what you were doing they were so impressed that they thought it would fun if we all got together and caught up.”
“They said ‘fun’?”
“Yes, fun,” she repeated guilelessly.
Angela’s invitation sent my imagination into overdrive. What is going on here, I asked myself. The Baricis had never shown anything but disdain for me in the past, so what could they possibly want from me now? Surely they must have an ulterior motive. But what could it be? Then suddenly, out of my confusion and the buzz of unanswerable questions swirling through my brain, a whim emerged. Why not accept? Just as before with the decision I’d made to go over to their house in the first place, I was emotionally beyond anything they might say or do to harm me, so why not go?
“Okay,” I said pleasantly. “I’d be happy to come.”
“Oh good. How about tomorrow night?”
“No that won’t do,” I responded firmly, determined that an acceptance would have to be on my terms. “The first time I could possibly make it would be Saturday.”
“Really?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Okay then, we’ll make it Saturday,” she replied, evidently disappointed.
“Well I’ve gotta get back to work now,” I declared with finality. “Thank you for the offer, and I’ll see you all then.”
Pressing the button that ended the call, I then slipped the phone back into the pocket of my jacket, and sat back in my chair.
Whatever it is they want, I thought to myself, they want it badly enough to try to get me over there right away.
And so, congratulating myself on my decision to postpone things until the end of the week, I came to the conclusion that although it meant waiting to discover the real reason behind their invitation, it would ultimately be more gratifying for me to make them sweat it out until then.
Much to my surprise, I began to regret that I had put off my dinner with the Baricis. Because in spite of the fact that I wanted their collective sense of uncertainty concerning the odds of getting whatever it was they wanted from me to build for as long as possible, I underestimated my own curiosity to find out what it was.
As a result, by the time Saturday rolled around, I was as anxious as I hoped they would be. And so, in an effort to keep myself busy, I filled the day with chores and personal errands. Determined to play the role of a good – but most importantly – unassuming guest to the hilt, I even bought flowers for the table and wine for dinner.
Finally, at six o’clock, I showered, shaved, put on my best suit, and gathered up my gifts. Deciding to drive rather than walk the short distance to the Barici’s house, I timed my arrival so that I pulled into their driveway promptly at seven thirty. Then, after taking a few minutes to steel myself for whatever lay ahead, I walked up the front steps and rang the bell.
As I expected, it was Angela’s father who answered.
“Hello Alan,” he greeted me warmly.
“Hello Mr. Barici,” I replied evenly.
“Please, call me Frank,” he said expansively as he waved me in.
“Thank you.”
“Hey everyone,” he called out as he closed the door behind me. “Alan’s here.”
As if on cue, Angela and Alessia abruptly appeared from a nearby hallway. As was her custom, Angela had on the same practiced smile that I knew so well from our school days, while Alessia – who was neither as bright, nor as deceitful as her sister – wore a lopsided half grin which betrayed the fact that however convincing everyone else was trying to be, she lacked the cunning necessary to hide her true feelings.
Dinner, which Mrs. Barici served in a congenial, but somewhat robotic fashion, was a tedious, yet for me, oddly entertaining mixture of forced friendliness and contrived conversation, punctuated by awkward silences during which only the sounds of forks clicking on china could be heard. Indeed on more than one occasion I caught my hosts exchanging sidelong glances that betrayed their impatience with the process of playing the roles required of them in order the lend an air of authenticity to what was in reality nothing more than an entirely fictional social event.
Their discomfort delighted me.
“Mrs. Barici, that was an excellent dinner,” I said graciously as I daubed the corners of the my mouth with my napkin.
“Thank you Alan,” she replied reflexively.
“Yes dear,” Frank chimed in. “The piccata was superb.”
“Oh yes,” Angela concurred.
“It was good,” Alessia agreed flatly, unable to conceal her boredom.
“Girls,” Frank said as he dropped his napkin on the table. “Why don’t you help your mother in the kitchen while Alan and I go to the den for some cognac?”
Immediately Mrs. Barici, aided by her daughters, began clearing away the dishes, while I followed Frank out of the dining room.
My wait was over.
“Would like to join to me?” he asked, as he poured some cognac into a snifter.
“No thank you.”
“Are you sure? It’s very good.”
“No, thank you,” I repeated politely.
“You didn’t have any wine with dinner either,” he observed as he picked up his drink. “Don’t you indulge?”
“Sometimes,” I replied pleasantly. “But never when I’m driving, or I have to keep my wits about me.”
“That’s always wise,” he commented blandly, as he waved me to a nearby chair, while at the same time settling himself into another.
“So, Yale Law,” he said, as he slowly rolled his cognac around the snifter.
“Yes sir.”
“You know,” he began thoughtfully. “I’ve always felt that one of the most important qualities an attorney should have is, what’s the word I’m looking for, ah yes, discretion.”
His remark instantly explained the reason for my presence there. And I could not believe my good fortune.
“I couldn’t agree more,” I concurred.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“In fact in the legal profession it’s almost a cliché. Like ‘what goes around comes around,’ or, ‘the chickens coming home to roost.’”
“Exactly.”
“There you go.”
“You know Alan I’d like to ask you a question.”
“Fire away,” I replied cheerfully.
“What were you doing here last Sunday?”
“Why, did you see me?”
“Yes, as you were leaving. I saw you come around from the back of the house and walk up the driveway.”
“Ah.”
“So why were you here?”
“Angela invited me.”
“She did?”
“Yes, I ran into her one day when I was out walking my dog, and she told me that I should come over some time and see the renovations. She sounded very proud of them.”
“Don’t you think you should have called first?”
“I guess I just didn’t think of it. Why, was that wrong?”
“Well don’t you think it’s a matter of common courtesy?”
“Perhaps you’re right,” I replied innocently. “It won’t happen again.”
“Alan I’d like to come right to the point.”
“Please do.”
“What did you see?”
“You mean last Sunday?” I inquired in a deliberate effort to appear obtuse.
“Yes, last Sunday.”
“Well let’s see,” I said, narrowing my eyes thoughtfully, as if searching for the memory. “Ah yes, I recall now. I saw a number of cars in the driveway, one of them a really nice old Bentley.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, it had Larry Frasier’s vanity plates on it, LFIO.”
“Alan, what did you see when you went around back?”
“I saw Angela, Alessia and Mr. Frasier looking at the cottage.”
“Anything else?”
“They seemed friendly.”
“Friendly?”
“Yes friendly. Definitely friendly,” I repeated, nodding my head confidently.
“Alan are you messing with me?” Frank asked softly, but in a voice, and with a look that did little to conceal his rising irritation.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Because I know what you saw,” he replied a bit testily.
“Hmm, that is interesting. Because the only way you could know what I saw is if you saw it too.”
He did not contradict me
“So, why don’t you just tell me what you’re really after?” I asked in a polite, but now distant tone.
“Very clever,” he said stiffly, as the realization that I was indeed stringing him along finally struck him.
“I’m no longer a frightened middle schooler, asking to talk to your daughter Mr. Barici.”
“Have you told anybody?”
“No.”
“Are you going to?”
“Why? Is there some reason I should keep it a secret?”
“Don’t get stupid on me Alan. That act has worn pretty thin.”
“I’m not acting,” I assured him. “I really want to know why you think it’s important that I keep what I saw a secret.”
“I’m looking after my family.”
“And how are you doing that?”
“I don’t owe you any explanations.”
“Oh I think you do,” I responded. “After all you’re the one asking me for something, not the other way around.”
“Mr. Frasier has invested in my company.”
“And what did he get?”
“A partial ownership.”
“That’s it? Umm, I wonder what someone like Larry Frasier would want with partial ownership of a limousine company.”
“Mr. Frasier has many business interests.”
“And the cottage, which is where I assume he and your daughters will, how shall I say it – meet – is that part of it too?”
“Be careful boy.”
“So I guess all that kissing was just their way of sealing the deal.”
“I warned you to be careful, besides what do you know?” Frank blurted out suddenly.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you don’t have a family,” he said, glaring at me challengingly. “You have no idea what’s like to have a business, a house, a wife, and five daughters. Do you have any idea of what that costs?”
“I’m sure it takes a lot,” I replied, noting as I did so that he failed to include the extravagant lifestyle he was so well known for as a factor in his calculations.
“You bet it does,” he added with the satisfied air of someone who has just absolved himself. “This partnership will benefit all of us.”
“Meaning you too?”
“Of course.”
“Of course,” I repeated. “Okay Mr. Barici, we have a deal. Now that I understand, I’ll keep your secret.”
“Good.”
“For now.”
“What does that mean? Are you threatening me you little bastard?”
“It’s not a good idea to insult me Mr. Barici. It’s poor salesmanship. Besides, I don’t want anything from you…at least nothing tangible.”
“So what do you want?”
“I want your worry.”
“My worry?”
“That’s right, your worry. You see I want you to know – to be aware on some level – that at any time, on any given day, I could rock your world.”
“So that’s what you’re after? Some kind of revenge?”
“This has nothing to do revenge Mr. Barici, this is a reckoning.”
“A reckoning?”
“You owe me,” I said determinedly. “When I was growing up, every barb, every insult thrown at me by people like you, robbed me of a little more of my self-respect until finally I had none. And this? This is just my price for your part in it.”
“Why are you picking on me?”
“I’m not picking on you Mr. Barici. Fate just gave me the opportunity to call you to account. I’m merely taking advantage of it.”
“So, you’re going to hold this over me and my family for the rest of our lives?”
“This is your doing Frank, not mine,” I said pointedly, depriving him of the last vestige of respect I previously afforded him by now using his first name. “After all, I’m not the one prostituting his daughters.”
“Don’t push me boy,” he snarled in reply as he rose ominously from his chair.
“What are going to do Frank? Hit me? That wouldn’t be very smart.”
“That’s Mr. Barici, to you.”
“It’s a little late to demand my respect, don’t you think – Mr. Barici?”
“Get out of here,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Get out of here now.”
Rising from my chair, I turned and walked calmly out of Frank’s study.
As I made my way towards the front door, I saw Angela, Alessia and their mother standing together in the living room, looking at me apprehensively.
We didn’t speak.
There was no need.
For although I’d accomplished what I came there to do, I felt no need to gloat over my victory.
Instead I felt only the satisfaction of one who’d regained a small piece of their dignity – even if it had been taken long ago.