I
June 1975
Harrison Cunningham had been dead for three months now, and no one seemed to care.
He was a titan in his own right, having been the co-leader of the Chandler and Cunningham Motors empire for decades. He was brainy, dull, and unassuming, but everyone who met him thought the world of him. His death, a result of an after-hours car accident, sent shockwaves through the world of American business. Questions of who might take his place, if his place would be taken at all, if they would remove one of the Cs in C&C Motors, if Beverly Chandler might be too softhearted to get the job done. None of the questions asked were about the man who died. His death was a sudden disappearance, a piece of missing inventory. The permanence was only noted in its suddenness. The emotional ramifications had not yet been dealt.
“I know something you don’t know.”
Rich looked up from his typewriter. Judith Chandler was leaning on his desk, head held high to survey the quiet office. She had feathered her thick brown hair away from her face, which was the style she favored lately. She avoided eye contact with him for a few seconds, but when he wouldn’t bite, her eyes flickered to his. He sighed and rested his cheek in his palm.
“Gee,” he mumbled. “Please tell me.” Judith clicked her tongue.
“Well, that’s a pisser,” she said. “You’ll have to find out at dinner. Can you wait a few hours without fainting from curiosity?”
Rich grinned. “If the news is that you’re finally moving to California, I might faint from something else.”
Judith’s mouth twisted up. She stood up from his desk and looked at the door behind Rich’s desk. “Is my dad in?”
Rich nodded behind him. “He’s with some guys from the New York office. If it’s an emergency, I can buzz him. Just prepare for him to be disappointed.”
Judith rolled her eyes. “Candy wants to make sure he can get a table at The Cove tonight.” Rich started forward for a split second. Judith smirked at him. He made like he was stretching and relaxed back into his seat.
“Did she send you, or did she tag along today?” he asked, poorly attempting nonchalance.
“Down, boy.” Judith looked over her nails. “She’s here, talking to Loverboy. He’ll be at dinner tonight, you know.” Rich smiled thinly.
“Great,” he said. “It’ll be nice to catch up.”
“Oh, I bet,” Judith replied, lowering her voice and raising her eyebrows with an expression of stupid enthusiasm.
Rich Freed had been the personal assistant to the CEOs of Chandler & Cunningham Motors for two years, and in those two years, Judith Chandler had never said a kind word to him. Early on, she wasn’t so snippy. She would only come in to visit her father or bring a message from her mother or her siblings. At first, she would speak shortly with him and roll her eyes, but she would never openly antagonize him. However, the closer he got to Beverly Chandler, and the more family dinners and outings and social events he attended, the more she grew to dislike him. Maybe she was upset that he was taking the place of Beverly’s old assistant, a girl that had been good school friends with Judith. Maybe she was annoyed that he wasn’t instantly charmed by her like the other men in the office. Maybe she hated that he was brave enough to snipe right back at her once he figured out doing so wouldn’t get him fired.
It certainly didn’t help that he was in love with her older sister.
Beverly stepped out of his office, still cavorting with the New York men. He was shaking the hand of a bald man and smiling solemnly, doing that quick kind of sigh that older men do when they wish to disclose their remorse without killing the mood.
“You’re right about that,” he said to the bald man. He was a building of a man, soft and solid, with a deep, gruff voice which carried a warmth that made every person he spoke to feel as though they walked on a basis of familiarity with him. “The helm is a lonely one now, isn’t it?”
“It won’t be easy,” the bald man returned. The young sycophants behind him echoed his assertion. Beverly shook his head and clapped the man on the back.
“It’ll be a treacherous road,” he agreed. “I want you boys up in New York to know that I’m grateful I have you behind me. You’ve made the transition much easier.”
The bald man smiled. He gave Beverly one final handshake and nodded quickly at Rich and Judith, who had been listening in unsubtly. Beverly followed the bald man’s eyes and opened his mouth in surprise when he saw Judith. He bode the men farewell, waved as they headed towards the elevators, and wheeled around to embrace his daughter. They bared a striking resemblance—She didn’t look like a tall, full man in his early sixties with grey sideburns and a brown rug, but she was a tall, sturdy woman with a big jaw and hazel eyes that could only be described as frantic. She picked up some of his mannerisms, Rich noticed. She walked with a kind of confidence that, while becoming on Beverly, could only be described as blind on her.
“Hello, sweetheart!” Beverly boomed. He drew away from her and held her shoulders. “Oh, what a beautiful dress! Did I buy that for you?”
It was a green and brown paisley dress with poofy sleeves. Rich thought it was one of the ugliest dresses he’d seen her wear, and he was almost certainly sure that Beverly was asking that question because he was struck with the thought of Jesus, what was I thinking? upon seeing her.
“I bought it with a few girlfriends from work,” she said. “It’s new, I got it just the other day. Cherry got one like it, but it’s all blue.”
Rich almost said ‘Oh, so she can’t reuse it for her curtains?’ but he stopped himself in front of Beverly. As if sensing him biting his tongue, Beverly turned to look down at Rich.
“You’re still coming to dinner with us tonight, aren’t you?”
“Yes sir,” he replied. “I’m looking forward to it.” He saw Judith turning her head to roll her eyes. “Something wrong, Judith?”
She nearly snapped her neck to give him a venomous look, but upon remembering her father was present, she laughed lightly.
“I think I’m getting a stye,” she said. She looked to Beverly. “Candy’s here, too. She’s talking to Carl right now. We were wondering if you could get us a table at The Cove tonight.” Beverly raised his eyebrows.
“I thought you girls wanted to go to Gino’s.” he said. Judith shrugged.
“I’m fine with either, but Candy loves The Cove. They have live music.”
“So does Gino’s.”
“Music from this century.” She raised her hands. “Again, I don’t care. If you can’t get a table, I doubt she’ll be crushed.” Beverly shook his head.
“I’m just fine with The Cove,” he said. He lifted his chin and smiled. “I can get ravioli some other night. Rich, can you call them? Say my name, and if they don’t budge, ask for Barry.”
Rich nodded and reached for the phone, already flipping through his desktop rotary. The Cove was a newer place, so he didn’t have their number memorized just yet. He had only gone there once, of course with Beverly. Access was not an issue with someone like Beverly.
“That thing looks awful.”
Norman Chandler saw his brother Happy’s reflection standing at his doorway. His bedroom was as large and pristine as it had ever been, with an immaculate king bed and deep mahogany dressers and bookshelves standing at the blue walls. He had a college pennant pinned above his bed, as well as a few small accolades from the forensics team. He was adjusting his dishwatery hair, and the ‘thing’ that Happy was referring to was a mustache he started growing after spring break. Norman spun around from his mirror and glared at him.
“It looks fine,” he said. “I take care of it, and I’m glad I can grow one.”
“You can grow it, all right,” Happy said, waltzing into the room with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “You can grow too much of it. You look like someone’s granddad.” Norman pouted, smoothing his index finger and thumb along it and scrutinizing the mirror.
“I think I look like Burt Reynolds.”
“You look like Groucho Marx, but who am I to argue?” He wandered over to Norman’s bed and flopped onto his back. “Oh my God, one week out of school and we already have to go to a stupid dinner. Can you believe that? This is just about our last summer and we might spend the whole thing going to a bunch of lousy dinners.”
“I’m wearing my sweater vest, so don’t you wear one,” Norman said. He tore himself from the mirror and settled into his desk chair. “Whenever we wear similar outfits, we end up looking like some sort of spooky singing twin duo that’s about to go on Lawrence Welk.”
“Don’t you have to wear a jacket to Gino’s?” Norman shook his head. “Judith told me we’re going to The Cove.”
“She always wants to go to wherever’s in the magazines,” he said. “Harping on me like I’m so full of myself. That tired bitch needs to take a good look at herself.”
Norman stayed silent.
Happy thought for a moment before sitting up. “Hey, The Cove has dancing, doesn’t it?” he asked. “Damn, I might just have to find a good society girl to throw around for a few songs. Figure I’ll pull the old Chandler line, make sure she knows who she’s dealing with. She’ll feel like a real sucker if she turns that down.” Once again, Norman didn’t respond. Happy flopped back on the bed. “God, you’re a purist. Either grow a pair or find a tampon, but leave me alone until you’ve got one picked.” He stood up from the bed and crossed over to the door.
“Hey,” Norman called over his shoulder. “Do you remember if I’ll need a jacket for The Cove?”
Happy paused in the doorway and smirked. “I’m wearing my jacket,” he said. “So don’t you wear one.”
Candy Chandler lined her lips with the precision of a surgeon. She had a thin face, a Roman nose, big eyes, and a smattering of freckles sitting just under her bottom lashes. She had been told her whole life that, on anyone else, these features would be a curse. Somehow, as they would make a point to emphasize, she prevailed. She often wished that nobody had mentioned the curse thing in the first place. Then she wouldn’t be stuck with all these nasty doubts.
Her new dress had been given to her by her mother on her most recent birthday, and she was eternally grateful. It was a spring green chiffon dress with an empire waist, a square neckline, and flowing sleeves. No one else would have gotten her a dress like that. Her boyfriend Carl constantly got her tight little tweed dresses that hugged her hips and nearly crushed her breasts. It was like he was trying to force her to have a figure, to prove something to all the doubters. See? She’s not a concrete wall!
Her mother’s friends said she looked darling, perfectly European. Too many women nowadays tried to show themselves off. They didn’t know modesty anymore. She knew these comments were a dig at her sister, but she never said anything. She would scan her vicinity for Judith and smile, looking like she agreed without having to speak.
Someone knocked at her apartment door and she put down her lipliner, crossing over to check her peephole. She smoothed her hair down and opened the door, letting in Carl Barclay. He quickly kissed her and walked in, tossing a bouquet of flowers on her couch.
“Hey, baby,” he said. “Getting all dolled up?” She nodded and walked back in the direction of her bedroom, layers of chiffon trailing behind her.
“I love going to The Cove,” she replied absently. “It’s so glamorous there. It’s like eating in New York.”
“We could have gone to New York if you wanted.”
She shook her head. “Maybe if we were already staying there for a couple days,” she said. She sat back down in front of her vanity, removing a blush compact from one of the drawers. “The Cove is glamorous enough for tonight.”
Carl folded his hands over the back of her chair and leaned down, pressing his cheek against hers. “I don’t want you to settle for glamorous enough, baby,” he said. He brought a hand up to brush his hair away from his eyebrows. “I want you to shoot for glamorous.” Candy smiled, gently reaching a hand back to touch his neck.
“I’ve got it right here,” she said, turning to kiss him on the cheek. He laughed.
“You’re a cornball,” he said. He snapped his fingers and stepped back. “Say, I was wondering—Should I pay for dinner tonight? Or at least pay for us?”
Candy shook her head. “Offer, fight with my dad a little, but step down,” she instructed. “The offer is important, but my dad would never let someone else pay for him.”
He nodded. As she worked at her face, he wandered her room, eyes running over her walk-in closet. He stopped.
“Babe,” he said. “Why aren’t you wearing that dress I got you last week? The, uh, the little sparkly number?” Candy stiffened for a second before closing her compact and reaching for her hairbrush.
“It’s a bit short for The Cove,” she said calmly. “I do love it, though. I’m going to wear it to Sissy’s bachelorette party next week.” Sissy’s party was white clothing only, a fact which she would ‘forget’ until the day of.
“Too short, huh?” Carl repeated. “Boy, tell that to the waitresses there. Hell, I get it. With those legs?” He let out a low whistle.
Candy had been dating Carl for a little over six months, and he had never once been uncomfortable making comments like those. She cycled through excuses for him. It’s hard to break the fraternity mindset. His mother left at a young age. He works with a lot of men, and that kind of talk carries over. His girlfriend is flat; doesn’t that give him the right?
“I hope your mom doesn’t feel out of place,” Carl said. He was sitting on the little couch at the end of her bed. “The folks at The Cove tend to eat their dinners, not drink them.”
“Don’t say that!” Candy moaned. Carl laughed and held up his hands.
“Hey, come on!’ he said. “I’m just getting it out of my system before we leave. We know what we’re running into, so I just want to make sure I don’t put my foot in my mouth. Your mom is going to drink, Happy is going to dominate the conversation, Judith is going to say something bitchy, and Rich isn’t going to say one damn thing to anyone except your dad.”
She considered asking him right then to not call her sister a bitch, but she had already asked him so many times without having it take. She mentally stored the Bitch file in her folder of Lost Battles.
“What’s Norman going to do?” she asked. He thought for a moment, then raised his eyebrows.
“You know,” he said. “I had forgotten about Norman.” She was loath to admit it, but that happened to her from time to time as well.
“Do you talk to Rich much in the office?” She changed the subject. He shrugged and crossed his legs.
“Here and there,” he said. “He usually just works or takes his breaks alone. If he sticks with anyone, it’s Kenneth.” Candy smiled
“We should have dinner with Kenneth sometime,” she said. “He’s such a nice man.”
“Yeah, he’s great…” Carl muttered, looking down at his watch. “Are you nearly ready?”
Candy ran her fingers through her hair and swept it back behind her shoulders. She placed her fingertips on her thighs and studied her face in the mirror. She trained herself to be expressionless, placid, but she could feel her blood thundering in her ears. The nausea swam in her chest, so she closed her eyes and exhaled.
After tonight, she thought, it would all be different. It was difficult to let that sink in.
The Cove was packed with people. The band had started their set and the floor was beginning to flood with excited patrons. The maître-d led the Chandler party to a large table on the roped-off side of the restaurant, close enough to people-watch without having your ears blown out. As the rest of the family chattered, Rich leaned over the back of his chair and checked out the band. At the moment, the trombone player was doing a solo. He always admired trombone players— He played a little bit as a teenager, but he wasn’t very good.
“You think with how expensive this place is, they could stand to light it a little better,” Shirley Chandler said. She was a lithe, severe woman with thin lips, high cheekbones, and seductive brown eyes.She wrapped her mink stole tighter over her shoulders. Rich could tell that she had gotten her hair done a couple hours earlier. The brown dye had stained her scalp, making her hairline look solid.
“The low lighting is purposeful, Mom.” Judith replied. She and Rich were stuck sitting next to each other, so she sat with her body angled away from his. “It’s meant to be cozy and intimate. They dim the chandeliers and the sconces and paint the walls dark, it’s all very classic.”
“Gino’s is classic,” Beverly snapped. “They’ve even got candles on the tables there.” He raised his hands in defense of an argument provided by no one. “Of course, you girls wanted this place, and I’m glad we’re here. I’m not about to complain.”
“Of course you’re not about to, you just got done doing it.” Shirley said. She held her hand over Beverly’s head, signaling the waiter. Carl nudged Candy with his knee under the table.
“Dad, I’m gonna do a lap after we order,” Happy said. He was scanning the floor for girls who were either unattached or temporarily separated from their dates. “See if I know anyone.”
“You boys can go ahead right now if you’d like,” Beverly said. “Just let me know—”
“Lobster roll, thanks.” Happy interrupted, closing his menu and getting up. Norman looked after him, then back at his parents, open-mouthed. Beverly waved a hand.
“Please, go on!” he said. “None of us mind. You’re back home, go socialize!”
Norman closed his mouth. “Uh, filet mignon. Thank you.” He folded his menu and stalked off, flexing his hands and keeping his eyes on his feet.
“Is that Benny Goodman?” Shirley asked, steepling her fingers and listening to the band. “Is this a swing place, girls? Do I have to worry about Norman getting flipped?”
“It’s classic!” Judith said.
The waitress took their orders, smiling brightly and complimenting them. Beverly was a famously generous tipper, but this girl wasn’t taking any chances. Once the food reached the table, Happy and Norman returned. Happy was sweating, removing his jacket and draping it over the back of the chair. He ran a moist pink hand through his hair and dove into his lobster roll. Norman unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up to his elbows. It was clear that he had not been dancing as excitedly.
“They do err on the side of well done, huh?” Beverly remarked, checking the inside of his steak. He pressed his fork against the top, letting it slowly ooze brown juice down onto the plate. Shirley picked at her oysters unenthusiastically.
“The chicken in mine is good,” Rich said, twirling a fork full of pasta against his spoon. “I get so nervous ordering chicken at restaurants.”
“I once got some baked chicken that was completely raw on the inside,” Candy said. “I thought I could hear it clucking.”
Rich laughed much louder and for much longer than was necessary for the anecdote.
“Was that when we went to that place in New York?” Carl asked. “Jesus, you were puking like nothing I’ve ever seen that night. It was like you were possessed.”
“We are eating!” Shirley said.
“You saw that it was raw, didn’t you?” Norman asked Candy. “Why did you eat it?”
Candy shrugged. “I thought maybe some people ate it differently. Like raw fish in sushi, you know?”
“Yeah, it’s really in to cook chicken rare nowadays.” Judith said. Candy stuck her tongue out.
Later on, most of the table was able to push their empty or half-eaten plates away, lighting cigarettes and looking around the restaurant as if they were coming up for air. Shirley mimed the shape of a box to the passing waiter.
“Do you have a light?” Judith asked Rich. He flicked open his lighter and cupped his free hand around it for her. She pulled her hair behind her shoulders and leaned in. Her cheeks had taken on a pink quality, amplified by the soft sconces of the restaurant and the dancing flame.
“Before we all leave,” Candy announced. Her voice was tinny, which often signaled her anxiety. “We have something to announce.”
Rich tore his eyes from Judith and looked at Candy, closing his lighter. He could feel something twist in his abdomen, but he tried to ignore it. Surely, he thought, this wouldn’t happen tonight. Not so soon.
“It–– It’s been a long time coming,” Candy said. She scanned the table, trying to take in everyone’s expressions. Judith already knew, so she was wearing the usual smug look that she adopted when she was keeping a secret. Norman folded his hands expectantly, smiling without conviction. He hated being in the dark on anything. Happy, bored, was still surveying the floor. Beverly held his arm around Shirley, lifting his chin and smiling at his daughter. Shirley did her best to match his expression in her own subdued way.
Candy forgot to look at Rich.
Carl’s hands closed over hers. He slid a heavy white crystal onto her ring finger and thrust her hand into the air triumphantly.
“We’re engaged!” he shouted. Shirley yelped and threw her hands over her mouth. Happy returned his attention to the table and clapped like he was at a golf outing while the other siblings rushed over to throw their arms around Candy, laughing and offering their congratulations. Beverly stood up and leaned over the table to shake Carl’s hand.
Rich was glued to his seat, knuckles turning white as he clutched the underside. The plush carpeting had fallen out from under his feet and all the smoke in the room rushed into his open mouth and solidified inside his hollow lungs. He had refused the possibility of this happening. He figured they might be announcing some big anniversary trip, or that Carl getting a promotion. That might have been tough to stomach, but not impossible to weather. Now, the foolishness of refusing to entertain the thought caught up with him. The train had been in motion for months. He was never the conductor. He wasn’t even a passenger. He was a guy taking a nap on the tracks.
Judith gasped as she lifted Candy’s hand. “Oh, that’s gorgeous,” she said. “God, you’re going to have to get a back brace.” She laughed, then let her eyes travel to Rich. His mouth was stretched into a thin line. She smiled, then angled Candy’s hand to face him. He refused to look at it, keeping his eyes on Judith. She raised an eyebrow.
I told you, she mouthed.
