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Shaken by Events at Spencer’s House, the Amigos Return to Adorno’s for Lunch

The thoughtful Nelsoneers had laid out an enormous buffet at Spencer’s house, but the three amigos had been kept too busy to eat anything during the five hours they had been captive at that event. Much ice tea had been forced on them, but at 2:00 they were in need of something they could chew.

Although Adorno’s had changed to a ristorante from a pizzeria since they hung out in this place as teenagers, it hadn’t undergone another transformation since they’d dined here the previous evening, even though this was a century of frantic change. As far as Rebecca could tell, the decor was exactly the same, as was the menu.

Vito didn’t work the lunch shift. Their waitress was a blue-eyed blonde named Gabriella, or so the management would have you believe.

Because they had a busy evening of law-breaking ahead, the amigos didn’t have wine. They ordered lunch. After Gabriella took their order, she said, “Ms. Crane, the first two seasons of Enemies were the best thing on TV at the time, and you were really great as Suzy Pepper. You sure deserved those Emmys.”

Although seven seasons of the show had aired, Rebecca was wise enough not to seek an opinion of the other five. She said, “That’s very sweet of you. You’re a lovely girl. Listen, dear, I’m a curious nebbynose. Do you mind telling me your last name?”

“Roccofino.”

“Gabriella Roccofino. Your married name, I assume.”

“No. I haven’t been married yet. But I’m engaged. He’s a great guy. Salvatore Passatempo. I want to have six kids.”

“I’m sure you will,” Rebecca said.

After Gabriella Roccofino Passatempo had brought their Cokes and they were alone in the booth, Spencer said, “I don’t want to ask this, Rebecca, but I can’t help myself.”

“Spencer, I’ve told you before, I don’t know why the last five seasons never measured up to the first two.”

“No. I’m talking about the arm wrestling.”

“What about it?”

“Did you really try, or did you just let me win six times out of seven?”

“Don’t put yourself down. You’re a big strong artist, honey.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Bobby said, “You want some advice?”

Spencer said, “No.”

Rebecca said, “I don’t like appearing to be a wimp, amigo. I would never want to throw six out of seven.”

“How many did you throw?”

Rebecca sighed and shook her head. “The Musketeers never had conversations like this.”

“Did you throw five and I really only had one win?”

Bobby said, “Maybe now you want some advice.”

“No.”

Rebecca said, “Honey, you remember how I had to tone up big-time to play Nurse Heather in Shriek ? I had to keep up with my weight training for the two sequels, and I’ve never stopped.”

Spencer sighed. “I didn’t have any real wins, did I?”

“But you have that great hat,” Bobby reassured him.

Adorno Ristorante had become chic enough to have liveried food runners in addition to waiters and busboys. This one carried two plates, while Gabriella brought the third. He was a pale, freckled redhead with a name tag that identified him as Silvio. Rebecca was tempted to ask his surname, but she figured it would be Lombardo or Pisciotta, or maybe Corleone.

The food was delicious. They ate it. Rebecca had no inclination to describe her lunch to herself for the purpose of enhancing the atmosphere of the scene or for any other reason.

By the time they finished the meal, 3:00 would have come and passed, and they would have accomplished little since meeting for breakfast at 7:30. They had learned about the new, improved Maple Grove and its peaceable, neighborly people, but that knowledge did not greatly advance their mission to revive Ernie Hernishen from the curse of suspended animation and rescue him from whatever dark forces held sway in this strange—and possibly doomed—town.

The amigos quietly discussed Pastor Larry and how best to get at him, which they had failed to do all those years ago, largely because of the murderous Wayne Louis Hornfly. It occurred to Rebecca—as how could it not?—that kidnapping the Reverend Turnbuckle, or even just detaining him against his will in order to terrify him into making revelations, would damage her girl-next-door image and might even negatively, seriously impact her career. However, Ernie was her friend, and if movies like Beaches had taught her anything, it was that friendship and loving one’s friends mattered more than anything else, more than fame or money or social acceptance or the fate of the world.

They arrived at a plan. It was not a perfect plan certain to lead to success. In fact, it was reckless. All schemes hatched under dire circumstances such as these were bound to be reckless to one degree or another. They had to admit the risk, accept it, and press forward with thoughtless abandon.

While Bobby calculated the gratuity for Gabriella, Spencer sat in slack-jawed concentration, laying out their reckless scheme in a series of mental images, and Rebecca cleaned her plate and flatware with wet wipes. She’d half finished the task when her phone played three bars of the theme song from Enemies . She read the caller ID and informed her amigos: “It’s Hornfly.”

She knew she should be afraid, and she was afraid. After all these years, Wayne Louis Hornfly was as vivid in her mind’s eye as if she had encountered him in the flesh just yesterday—his cruel face, green-striated orange eyes, and green teeth. In this sudden memory of a long-ago moment, he was holding a severed head by its hair. Although the head belonged to a man of about thirty-five, the chubby cheeks and smooth skin made it seem that Hornfly held the head of a choirboy, a choirboy who had made a serious mistake. The image was so familiar that Rebecca knew this was a moment from her past and that another suppressed memory would recur to her soon.

In that mellow game-show-host voice that was so out of synch with the killer’s appearance, Hornfly said, “You don’t belong here, Rebecca Crane. You have been further corrupted by Hollywood and are even a thousand times more disgusting than you were back in the day, when you were already repulsive. Why have you dared to return? Have you perhaps learned to hate yourself as we hate you, as we hate all humankind? Have you come home to die horribly? To be killed? To—”

Rebecca interrupted him. “Hey, one question at a time, you rude freak. I’ve returned to help a dear friend. No, I don’t hate myself. Yeah, I’m not perfect, but I’m pretty swell compared to a piece of garbage like you. No, I haven’t come back to die. And if you’re going to try to kill me, you better watch your ass.”

Hornfly said, “You may not talk to us like that. We will not forget. We are not a pussy-willow genotype like another I could name. We will extinguish you and your kind.”

“Give me a moment to put on my scared-girl expression. Oh, gee, I can’t make it fit.”

“Something’s wrong with you. What’s wrong with you, bitch?”

“Oh, that’s rich. The psychopathic cornball with the IQ of a cockroach thinks something’s wrong with me . You’re the bitch.”

He sounded like an angry game-show host. “Wayne Louis Hornfly could squash you like a ripe grape between a thumb and forefinger.”

“Good grief, that was already a dumb line when you used it on Bobby in the parsonage, twenty years ago. You shouldn’t write your own material, jerkface.”

“You’re dead.”

“I’m dead, huh? I don’t feel dead. Listen to me, you wad of cat phlegm. You stay out of my way, or I’ll shove a stick of dynamite up your fat ass.”

She terminated the call.

Her amigos were staring at her. Bobby was as slack-jawed as Spencer. Neither of them seemed able to speak.

She said, “Sorry you had to hear that. He just steams me.”

Bobby cleared his throat. “What were you doing?”

“She was in character,” Spencer said.

“You were being Heather Ashmont?” Bobby asked.

Before Rebecca could reply, Spencer said, “No. She was deep into being Rebecca Crane like we haven’t quite seen before.”

Her phone produced the theme song from Enemies .

Rebecca pocketed it. “Let the asshole go to voicemail. He won’t have the guts to leave a message anyway.”

A couple in the middle of the room, at the table nearest the amigos’ booth, were staring, aghast. When Rebecca gave them a do-you-have-a-problem-with-me look, they lowered their eyes to their food and worked their forks assiduously.

“What set me off was I had an agent like that once,” Rebecca explained.

“You had a psychopathic killer for an agent?” Bobby asked.

“Nah. He was worse. Are we ready to go?”

They went. On their way out, when they passed Gabriella Roccofino, Rebecca saw her wink at Bobby in spite of having Salvatore Passatempo lined up and six kids waiting to be made.