smiled at the recollection.
“So you guys are still friends?”
Russell rolled his eyes. “I hope so. I haven’t talked to her in a while, but looked her up this morning and ran into her later, downtown. It was good to see her, and I hate dogging her tonight.”
Manny and Carmela exchanged a look.
“Should we get home?” she suggested.
“Oh, not on my account,” Russell insisted. “I’m liking this little drive. I’ll call her tomorrow.”
They resumed their slow cruise.
“So, you never did tell me about you and Gloria,” Carmela prompted Russell, who immediately began to squirm.
“Oh, God—do I have to talk about that?”
Manny chuckled. “Women, Russ—they love to get the dirt on one another.”
Carmela swatted him. “You’re in fine form tonight.” She turned her attention to Russell and said, “I’m afraid you bring out the worst in him.”
Manny winked. “You’re a bad influence.”
They stopped at a red light.
“Aah!” Carmela cried. Both men jumped.
“What?”
“Oh, whew,” she whispered, holding her hand to her breast. “It was nothing. Just that guy, see him?” They followed her pointing finger to a man wearing camouflage fatigues. She began to giggle as she continued. “I couldn’t see his body—it was completely camouflaged—I just saw this head go floating by.”
Manny wiped his brow. “Damn it, woman, don’t do shit like that. You make me all nervous.”
“If it gets any greener it’ll puke on ya!” Carmela taunted Manny as he lagged behind the changing light. She was giggling hard now.
“All right, all right,” he said, slowly pulling into the intersection. “Not like I’m holding anyone up.”
“Look out!” Russell shouted in alarm as a big old boat of a car hurtled through the intersection on an obvious collision course.
With a cry of “Shit!” Manny assessed the situation and gunned the accelerator, hoping to clear the intersection and avoid getting broadsided. The front end of the other car hit the Imp in the right rear fender and spun it around.
“Goddamnit,” was all Manny could say when he climbed out of the car.
“Calm down, it’s OK. No one’s hurt,” Carmela reassured him.
He stormed over to the other vehicle, where he was met with the squinting sneer of an elderly woman.
“Well, I don’t know how you drive where you’re from,” she scolded him, “but around here we stop at red lights.”
Manny stood dumbfounded a moment, then informed her, “I come from here. And my light was green.”
“Look, look here,” she said, “You just got your paint scraped. You should consider yourself lucky that I don’t report you.”
“Holy moley!” Manny roared. “Lady, you’re paying for a new fender.”
A nearby homeowner called the police, who came and talked to Manny and the other driver, a Mrs. Enid Kartch. They were given an incident report and the advice to be careful.
“Damn,” Manny mumbled as he paced around the porch. “Damn, damn, damn.”
“We’ll get it fixed, it’s OK.”
“But it was perfect—perfect when I got it, and perfect until now. Until tonight, when old lady Kartch rammed into it with her lame-ass old Caddy. Damn.”
Carmela tried to calm him down. “Lighten up, man.”
Manny was having none of it. “See that car?” he pointed into the darkness. “That’s not the same car anymore. That car used to be perfect, and now it’s not anymore.”
Carmela arched an eyebrow. “It’s just a car, Manny.”
“I know, I know,” Manny said. “It’s just a car. But goddamn, I’ve kept it like I wanted it for this long and now— just like that—it’s totally altered. From this point on, it’s a different car. Thanks to old lady Kartch. What the hell kind of name is that, anyway?”
By way of distraction, Russell offered the comment, “Looks like that storm’s passed by us.”
Lightning sparked in the distance, too far away to resonate on this calm porch. Carmela and Russell watched Manny walk out to his car and disappear into the shadows. They heard him walking in the gravel, then silence, then the striking of a lighter. As a pinprick ember glowed in the driveway beneath them, Russell turned to Carmela.
“You want to know about Gloria,” he began, scratching his chin. “I just remembered something. Once we were in bed and we were fighting about something—who knows what, we were always fighting about something—and at one point she just gave me this lame crap like, ‘You’re right. You’re always right. I should know better than to ever voice my opinion.’ God, that just irritated me. I shouted, ‘No, I am not always right. In fact, I am frequently wrong!’ And then I punched the wall. Only the wall was weaker than I thought, or I was stronger, and my fist went right through it. Then I punched it again and made the hole bigger and I yelled, ‘See? See? I am not always right!’”
Carmela stared at him with a wide grin, then broke into a deep laugh. “You’re funny, Russ.” She hugged him. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Manny shuffled back up the walk and onto the porch. He stopped by the door and offered a beer to Russell, who accepted. Carmela got up and followed him into the kitchen. They were inside awhile as he sat lazily swinging, watching the flashing sky. The night droned with cicadas, crickets and frogs. A mosquito bit him. Manny came out with the beers.
“Here,” he said, handing one over, and seating himself on the railing.
They sipped their beers in silence. Then Manny came over and sat beside Russell on the swing. He took his shoes off and urged Russell to do the same. Then he put his left foot against Russell’s right foot and said, “Look at that.”
“What am I looking at?” Russell wanted to know.
“At our feet. See mine, and how regular the toe progression is? From the big toe—”
“That’s the one who went to market,” Russell interrupted.
“Right. From the big toe to the little toe—”
“Wee, wee, wee!” squealed Russell.
“Yeah, well, you see how regular all the
