Pink Floyd’s “The Wall.”
“Where did you unearth that?” James growled, opening only one eye.
“Someone has good music taste,” Marie declared. “It’s not you!”
“Andrew?” Pam wondered aloud.
“Elena,” James said.
Pam went quiet. Gerald watched her, fascinated.
“She liked classic rock?”
“Where do you think Andrew and Terry get it? She used to take Terry to concerts when he was younger.”
“I always thought Elena was an uptight blue blood,” Marie said.
“She was. And she enjoyed Led Zeppelin, Yes, and all those other crazy performers.”
“Good for her,” Pam said softly. “I wish I could have met her.”
“I wish I could have had more years with her,” James confessed.
The opening notes of “Comfortably Numb” filled James McCormick’s living room.
“This pop music crap,” McCormick said, though a smile twitched at the corner of his lips.
“James,” Marie asked slyly, “how are you feeling now?”
“Goooood.”
“Excellent.” She sidled in next to him. Gerald heard her whisper, “You know, we’re good friends. And as your friend, I’d like to talk to you about that $700,000 my husband gave back to your casino. I think it’s all just a big misunderstanding.” She patted his hand.
McCormick’s eyes flew wide open and he glowered.
“Not so comfortably numb now. You’re harshing on my groove, Marie.”
She shrugged, as if to say it couldn’t hurt to try.
“Gerald, would you make some Rice Krispie Treats for us?” Marie asked sweetly, eyes round like buckeyes, changing the topic masterfully.
“With Cheetos,” Pam added.
“And anchovies,” James insisted.
Gerald nodded, retreating to the kitchen, relieved to be out of sight where he could laugh and react to the absurdities.
As he checked the cupboards for supplies, the front door opened.
On high alert, he put his hand on the butt of his gun in the holster beneath his jacket.
“Hello?”
That voice was unmistakable.
Terry McCormick.
Gerald stood down.
“What happened? Is Dad okay?”
That was Andrew McCormick.
“Oh, man!” James McCormick groaned. “Who invited them?”
Declan appeared behind Andrew. Terry wore a paint-stained Rush t-shirt, while the other two brothers were in fine cashmere suits, one on either side of Terry, like Jackson Pollock and his bankers.
Terry glanced at Declan and Andrew, shrugged, and sat down on the couch, reaching for the joint.
“Terry!” Andrew bellowed. Gerald watched him carefully. The guy wasn’t horrified.
He was jealous.
Terry just shrugged. He took a long hit off the fattie and his eyes flew open as he hacked up half a lung.
“Amateur,” James muttered.
Terry barked out a coughing laugh. “This isn’t pot!”
“What?” Andrew and Declan snapped in unison, Declan’s emotions moving swiftly across his face, from stunned shock to suppressed amusement.
Terry bent over, his head between his knees, shoulders shaking with uncontrolled laughter. “This—” he wheezed, “isn’t pot. It’s not marijuana.” He looked up, eyes bloodshot from crying, not from THC, and announced to Pam, James and Marie, “You’re all high on oregano.”
“I wondered why I have a sudden craving for garlic bread,” James declared. He turned to Gerald. “I’d like you to go to the North End and get me—”
“Oregano?” Marie squeaked. “OREGANO?” She stood, mouth dropping open in outrage. “Agnes told me this was the finest weed her grandson could get his hands on.”
“I’ll bet it is,” Declan said, smothering a smile.
“I gave Agnes six free yoga classes for that dime bag!”
Never barter with Agnes, Gerald thought.
“Maybe it’s homeopathic marijuana,” Terry choked out, which only made Marie turn red with fury.
“You mean we’re not really high?” Pam asked.
“No,” Terry said. Gerald watched Declan, who leaned against the arm of his father’s wingback chair, one hand in his suit pants pocket, the other thumbing through messages on his phone.
“That explains it, then,” Marie announced. “I’m normally horny as can be when I’m high, and I’m dead below the waist right now.”
Without a single word, as smooth as Gene Kelly in an old 1940s musical movie, Declan spun around on one shoe and left the room, the back of his head visibly shaking to and fro, a loud sigh echoing through the foyer. The click of the front door snapping shut came soon after.
Nothing like hearing your mother-in-law announce that.
“Me, too!” Pam announced.
Andrew made a strange retching sound and suddenly became deeply fascinated with a stray string on his shirt cuff.
Ding! Doorbell.
“I’ll get it!” Andrew announced, practically shoving Gerald aside in his hurry to escape the room. Gerald folded his hands at the waist and waited, trying not to react to the unfolding scene before him.
And then in walked the last person he ever expected to see standing in James McCormick’s Back Bay home.
“Suzanne?” he rasped, her heels click-clacking on the marble floor. Spritzy jumped out of James’ arms and ran over to Suzanne, sniffing her ankles.
Too bad Gerald couldn’t display that kind of public enthusiasm.