"You miss her, don't you?"
"Miss who?" Shannie turned to me.
"Genise."
***
That night, as Shannie raced down the Atlantic City Expressway, I sat with my father and Diane in the Ortolan's kitchen speculating why the elder Lucas blew his brains out. It felt good to have my opinion valued. Since going to work for Steve at the parlor, people thought I had inside information on Beyford's biggest scandal. I really didn't work for Steve, his father's partner owned the joint, but Steve was heir-apparent. At the parlor the topic was taboo, except when Steve broached the subject. "You know no matter how many time's I whitewash that wall I still see his brains on it." The next day, I repainted the wall, again.
"Mrs. Miller claims the old man was a necrophiliac," Diane said -a hint of scandal woven in her voice.
"That old crow doesn't know the difference between Necrophilia and Negrophobia," I answered.
"I'm surprised at you James, Mrs. Miller is a dear lady."
"I'm surprised at you Diane, I thought you'd have better sense than to yenta it up with that crone."
As always, my father said nothing. He watched the cream curdle in his iced coffee.
"She heard it from a reliable source," Diane protested.
"Who? That fat pig Mrs. Grebler?"
"As a matter-of-fact," Diane replied.
"She's spreading that rumor like a farmer spreads shit. And you wanna know why?"
"Do tell," Diane smiled.
"'cause her ass got too big for old man Lucas' taste." It was well-known that Mr. Lucas and Mrs. Grebler were on again off again for years. Surprising when his widow was G.I.L.F. material. The deceased had a fatty fetish and the librarian recently outgrew his taste. "She's a scorned woman. Of course she's pissed. I don't believe a word of it. The only fucking that happened there was when Count used to bang Marcy in the casket show room."
My father looked up from his curdling coffee, looked at me, then Diane, snickered and returned to studying his quaff.
"You're kidding me?" Diane laughed.
"See, you're not as in the know as you think," I said.
What I did know and wasn't about to tell was the deceased ran into big time money problems. Steve said that the old man and the IRS were talking, or maybe I should say the IRS was talking and the old man was listening.
At the parlor, I was a professional mourner. One of the guys that when not driving the hearse or limo stood stuffed in a suit somberly greeting friends and family at the door - Walmart had nothing on us. "On average Beyford's population is growing older. The funeral business is a growth industry in this town, glad you can be part of it," Steve said shaking my hand the day I was hired. I recoiled, stunned by his cold, waxy touch. I wiped my hands on my pants when he turned away.