Skeletons in Both Closets

It was a hot summer night several years ago in Fort Lee, New Jersey. If you’ve never been there, it’s a town straight out of The Sopranos. I remember it like it was yesterday. I had too many beers. I shouldn’t have been driving. That’s not an excuse, just an explanation. Ralphie shouldn’t have challenged me in the first place, but he did. I was running my mouth about my new Mustang, and I guess it rubbed Ralphie the wrong way. Ralphie said his three-year-old Corvette StingRay would blow the doors off my new Mustang. As usual, Callahan’s parking lot was crowded with hot rods and drag racers. All beer drinkers and gearheads. I had to accept to save face. The alcohol made it a no-brainer.

Palisade Avenue is a 50 MPH four-lane road, two lanes in each direction. It is also flat and straight. Perfectly straight. There was a traffic light right at Callahan’s lot. Two guys volunteered to block traffic with their vehicles so Ralphie and I could get the lead spots at the light. It was a straight shot down Palisade to the Dairy Queen, exactly a quarter mile away. Two guys were stationed in the DQ parking lot. Their job was to declare the winner. This was the standard race circuit that saw this sort of action once or twice every summer night. The cops turned a blind eye to Callahan's drag races. Their theory was that the rest of the county would be much safer if they could keep racing in the streets localized to this small stretch of Palisade Ave.

Ralphie and I agreed on a $100 bet.

We sat at the light tacking up. We both popped the clutch when the light turned green. I can still hear the whine from our screaming machines and smell the burning rubber. I had a slight lead out of the hole but lost it when I missed second gear for a split second. All I remember was seeing the six custom taillights of Ralphie’s StingRay and knowing I had to get the lead back. I put my foot in it but never made up the deficit. We were both doing over 100 when we passed DQ and started braking. Ralphie won by less than one length. My Mustang wasn't the easiest thing to control coming down from that speed, and I veered onto the shoulder a couple of times, kicking up rocks and dirt.

The bump I felt was accompanied by a little high-pitched shriek. I never saw a thing.

It wasn’t until the next night in Callahan's lot I heard everybody buzzing about Kathy Manzo's dog, Ferris. Ferris was half Beagle and half Dachshund, just about the cutest, friendliest dog on God’s green earth. Kathy had named him after Ferris Bueller, her favorite movie, and had raised him since he was born at the local shelter five years earlier. Kathy was a regular at Callahan's, and she sometimes would walk Ferris along the Palisade Avenue shoulder and hang out with us in the lot. I love dogs and had become quite friendly with Ferris over the years. I used to sneak him snacks which pissed Kathy off. She said I was making him fat, but Ferris was my friend for life and always glad to see me. Rumor had it that Kathy Manzo’s father was organization, but I never put much stock in that.

They found Ferris’ little body on the Palisade Avenue shoulder just past Dairy Queen. I looked for Kathy at Callahan’s to pay my condolences, but she was nowhere to be found. Her best friend Phyllis told me Kathy was home grieving. Kathy told Phyllis that it had all happened so fast she had no idea what kind of car had hit Ferris. Kathy was walking him on the shoulder when the accident happened. She said the car was going incredibly fast, and she was blinded by the rocks and dirt. She never saw the car that hit Ferris.

I had harbored a secret, mad crush on Kathy for a long time. But, like most guys who are head over heels in love to that degree, I never asked her out or told anybody about my feelings for her. After what happened to Ferris, I saw my chance.

I drove over to the local shelter and met the dogs available for adoption. One little guy was a mix of Beagle and many other breeds who was super friendly. I did all the paperwork, paid for the shots, bundled the little guy in a new crate with blankets and snacks, and headed for Kathy's house.

She met me at the door and was overcome with tears of joy when I handed her the little guy.

“What’s his name?” she asked while wiping tears.

"He doesn't have one yet," I replied. "He's your dog, so you should go ahead and name him."

She called him "Two-ey" after the man-eating plant in her second favorite movie, Little Shop of Horrors. "No dog can replace Ferris, and Ferris-two sounds corny. Two-ey is just right."

That’s how our romance started. Over the next few years, we fell madly in love. I outgrew my fascination with big-block V8s with two four barrels and smoking tires, as well as my addiction to Callahan's drag races, hot dogs, and beer. In a word, I became mature.

I enrolled in the local community college and, after two years, received my associate's degree in information technology. I landed a job at a local IT outpost for a pharmaceutical conglomerate and started making really good money. Kathy became a dental hygienist for a popular local dentist. She was also well-compensated. When we moved in together, we discovered we were affluent.

One night, we had dinner at Twin Gables, our favorite fancy Italian Ristorante on Palisade Avenue. We only went there on special occasions because it was very expensive. Kathy ordered the veal Osso Buco, which was fall-off-the-bone tender, served on a bed of Polenta, which soaked up the veal juices until it became something heavenly. I had my usual Veal Picada. We shared a bottle of Coppola's Claret, whose rich red flavor perfectly set the veal dishes off. For dessert, we ordered the Chocolate Mousse with two spoons, topped with real whipped cream and chocolate shavings.

As we sipped the house special Café Noir coffee, I realized this was the ideal time and decided to take the plunge. I pulled the little jewelry box out of my suit jacket pocket, opened it, and said, "Kathy Manzo, will you marry me?"

She gasped and put her hand over her mouth.

Kathy took my hand and said, "Before I say yes, I want you to know a secret from my past that no one else knows anything about. I want our new life to start out with a clean slate. No secrets. But you must promise – don’t tell anyone.”

“Okay, I promise.”

“Remember my best friend, Phyllis?”

"Sure. Phyllis got married and moved away a few years ago, right?"

"Right. Well, the day after Ferris died, Phyllis came to my house to console me. My parents were both out.” Kathy looked down but kept holding my hand.

“And?” I asked.

"One thing led to another, and we became intimate. It never happened again. We both agreed it was the product of raging emotions and grief, mostly on my side. Well, there it is. The fact of the matter is I once had sexual relations with another woman. Do you still want to marry me?”

To be perfectly honest, I always thought Phyllis was extremely attractive, and I found the mental image of Phyllis and Kathy getting it on quite titillating. "Of course, I want to marry you," I said a little too quickly.

“How about you?” Kathy asked. “Any skeletons rattling around in your closet?”

I looked down. Maybe Kathy was right. This was our chance to start a new life on an even keel. A fresh start. No secrets. I knew I would feel better unburdening my conscience after all this time. I looked Kathy in the eye.

“I think I killed Ferris.”

“What?”

I explained about the drag race with Ralphie after one beer too many, how I had trouble controlling the Mustang after we passed Dairy Queen, how I felt the bump and the high-pitched yelp as the car sprayed rocks and dirt from the shoulder, how sorry I was and how awful I felt about it.

“You bastard!” Kathy yelled and stood up. “And to think I almost married you!” She threw her glass of Coppola Claret in my face and stormed away. She left the ring in the box on the table.

When I got back to the house, Kathy and Two-ey were already gone. She never answered my calls or texts. I tried to track her down until one night, I got cornered by two muscular guys in dark suits who told me to back off or I might meet the same fate as Ferris. As an added incentive they promised to nail my kneecaps into Palisade Avenue asphalt.

I knew then the rumors about Kathy’s father were true.

I moved on after that.