The Night Before Read Free Page B

stable boy; and yet he could fairly say that he still loved her, and guessed that they spent more time engaged in carnal acts than most couples who had been married as long.
    She ended her call, snapped the cover of her phone closed, and looked his way. “So?”
    Joe stifled the grin that was lurking behind his eyes and came up with a vague shrug. “I got most of the things on the list,” he said. “But I’m going back out. A couple more stores and then I’ll go grab a drink with Billy.”
    â€œOf course. What’s Christmas without boozing with Billy?”
    It came out a little snide, but Joe was in too good a mood to let it bother him and just laughed. Mariel responded with a smile that was not unkind. “So I can expect you when?”
    â€œI don’t know. Eight, maybe. Not before.”
    â€œI’ve got an errand to run, but I’ll be back by then,” she said. “I made the antipasto, so we can just go.” She was turning away when he touched her shoulder and planted a quiet kiss on her mouth. “Well,” she said, blinking. The sudden affection had caught her off guard.
    â€œIt’s Christmas Eve,” he said.
    He did catch up with Billy. That much of what he told Mariel was correct. Her claim that no holiday was the same without his old friend’s barroom cheer was also true. Though she did not mean it as a compliment.
    Billy Alden was the type girls adored when they were young, single, and wild and dismissed or despised forever after. He was a first-class maniac and true gypsy, and so he remained the kind of magnetic force who could tempt even the most stalwart husband into delinquency. More than a few of the women in their social circle had waited out his clownish impositions, steaming in private until the rings were on their fingers so they could say, “All right, get rid of him.”
    Some of the husbands did just that. Joe stood firm. He had known Billy since grade school and loved him like an errant brother. For her part, Mariel had resigned herself to his presence, though she hadn’t allowed him around the house since the night he made a drunken pass at her mother. She told Joe she found it ridiculous that a man well into middle age went by “Billy.” What was he, seven? A circus midget? That was as far as her nagging went. The man was like an old car that got towed from one garage to the next, never running quite right, an eyesore but a harmless hobby.
    Joe found the eyesore hunkered down in a booth at the Delaware Tavern, his home away from home. Melinda, the pretty red-haired waitress that Billy lusted after, came out from behind the bar.
    â€œJoe,” she said. “Merry Christmas.”
    â€œI’ll have a gimlet,” Joe said. “And make it with Grey Goose.” Melinda murmured her surprise. Joe glanced Billy’s way. “And my friend will have?”
    Billy raised an eyebrow. “You still got that bottle of single-malt? Lag… Laga…”
    â€œLagavulin?” Melinda said. “That’s forty-five dollars a pour.”
    Joe flicked one of his hundreds onto Melinda’s tray. “And have something for yourself,” he said.
    The barmaid stared at the crisp bill. “You win the lottery?”
    â€œLet’s just say it’s my lucky night.” Joe slid into the booth. He allowed a moment of silent drama before producing the zebrawood box, a sleight-of-hand artist presenting a dove from a hat.
    Billy studied the pendant and said, “I really wanted the ’67 Telecaster from that vintage store in Philly. But thanks. I love you, too.” His red face opened into the impish grin that women had once found irresistible. “Is that it, man? Really?”
    â€œStill there, after twelve years. And that ain’t all.” He laid a copy of the check alongside it.
    â€œThat’s his signature?” Billy said.
    â€œHis manager’s,” Joe