W Is for Wasted

mortgages, spousal support, writs, liens, offspring of all ages, split-vacation time, alternating holidays, family-counseling sessions, attorneys’ fees, PTA conferences, private schools, college tuition, accusations, court appearances, and vicious spats on every conceivable subject, including any new relationship the offending parent was engaged in that the other parent objected to.
    In my brief fling with Jonah Robb I’d had a taste of this. I was relegated to the wings, a peripheral character in the play that he and his wife/ex-wife had produced, cast, and starred in from seventh grade until the present. I’d bowed out in short order, smart enough to realize I’d never count for anything where he and Camilla were concerned. Let’s not even talk about his two girls, whose names I still had trouble remembering. Courtney might have been one. This new development with Dietz didn’t bode well for anyone. Nick had figured that out the first time he laid eyes on me.
    It wasn’t until after dark that I roused myself, brushed my teeth, doused my flattened hair with water, and ventured out. I couldn’t help but check Henry’s house, where I could see lights on in his kitchen, his back bedroom windows aglow as well. I should have warned him about Anna, but how did I know she’d show up unannounced?
    I headed for Rosie’s. I knew William would be tending bar, but I didn’t think he’d raise the subject of any postlife ceremonials as long as she was nearby. Rosie has no patience for his fascination with the festive aspects of our mortality. As I pushed the door open, I spotted her sitting at one of the tables near the back, getting her nails done. Anna had brought her manicure supplies, which she’d spread across the Formica surface: buffers, emery boards, files, cuticle scissors, and bottles of nail polish. Was
that
why she and Henry had gone to the beauty-supply place? She was already taking scandalous advantage of him. Rosie’s hands rested on a fresh white towel, a reservoir of warm soapy water nearby. She seemed pleased with the attention, sending me a shy smile in behalf of this lovely relative of mine.
    Fine, I thought. Far be it from me to say a word. They’d all have to figure it out for themselves.
    I slid into my usual back booth, which was much too close to Anna’s “work station.”
    She turned sulky at the sight of me. “I’m earning a living here if it’s all the same to you,” she said.
    “What a refreshing change,” said I, in response.
    When Rosie’s nails were done, she got up and sidled in my direction. Her garish pink polish was still drying, so she couldn’t use her order pad. She blew on her nails from time to time while she dictated the dinner fare. This is what I ate through no desire of my own.
Paprikás Ponty
(paprika carp, in case you hadn’t heard) with a side of sweet-and-sour cabbage. Also, a dish made with onion, green peppers, tomatoes, and a tablespoon of sugar, tossed together and fried in a dollop of lard. Oh, boy. I was just cleaning sauce from my plate, using the crust of one of Henry’s homemade rolls, when I looked up and saw Cheney Phillips coming in the door. He made a quick visual survey and when he spotted me sitting in the back booth he headed in my direction. Now what, I thought.
    Anna had packed her equipment and she was reaching for her jacket when she caught sight of him. Cheney Phillips was, no doubt, the first Santa Teresa stud she’d clapped eyes on. She sat down again.
    He slid in across from me. “Hey.”
    “Hey yourself. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
    “No reason in particular. Your name came up in conversation today. I was in the neighborhood so I stopped by. You look good.”
    “Thanks. So do you.” I glanced at Anna, who was looking at Cheney as though she’d like to nibble him around the edges. I was hoping he wouldn’t catch sight of those blue eyes of hers, not to mention the boobs.
    Rosie appeared at the table, order pad in hand. She’s irresistibly drawn to attractive men, and while she’s wildly flirtatious she’d never look one in the eye. She made sure her newly polished nails were handsomely displayed while she kept her gaze pinned on mine. “Your friend would care for liquid refreshment, perhaps?” Her Hungarian accent was particularly pronounced that night.
    I looked at Cheney. “Are you working or do you want a drink?” I said by way of translation. There was no question about what she’d asked, but I knew