A Different Kind of Forever(26)

Angela took Diane by the arm. “Then let me show you my den,” she said, leading Diane away.

Angela had the house built two years ago, a large contemporary on a quiet cul-de-sac. The long living room had become a dining room to accommodate a table for at least twenty-four. The original dining room had become a small, formal sitting area that was never used. Most of the living was done in the kitchen and family room, and in Neil’s private domain. The media room, huge, with a plasma screen TV and assorted speakers, receivers, and other appendages.

Angela explained all this as she led Diane back to what Neil had called the office. Square, sunny, and tucked in the back of the house, she had envisioned a quiet haven. So far, all she had were white walls and half-unpacked boxes.

Diane surveyed the space. “What color were you thinking?”

“She hasn’t decided yet,” Marie informed her. “We’re down to two choices, though. We expect a decision any minute now.”

Angela waved Marie aside. “Here, take a look. What do you think?”

Diane looked at the two samples. “Well, the blue is pretty, but there might be a problem because your base color is very warm, almost cream. No cool tones. The beige would be better, softer, less contrast.”

“How do you know this stuff?” Angela asked her.

“My father had his own business in Columbus. Ohio.” Diane explained. “Paint, wallpaper, everything. He loved theater too, and he did a lot of work for the local playhouse, scenery and stuff. He learned most of the faux techniques while working on set design. I helped him every summer, from about the time I was thirteen ‘till I got married and came out here.”

“Is that what got you interested in theater?” Michael asked.

“Yes.” She threw him a smile. “Angela, do you know how wide a stripe?”

“I figured about a foot.”

Diane shook her head. “Do you have a tape measure? A foot is really not wide enough. You’ll want something broader, since the room is large and the colors are so alike in tone.”

Marie fished out a tape measure from a pile of tools and brushes in the middle of the floor, and Diane measured and explained to Angela and her sisters. Michael leaned against the doorjamb and watched her happily. She was beautiful, he decided. She had changed with surprising speed from her overalls to faded jeans and a blue-and-white striped tee shirt, and had brushed the dust from her glossy dark hair. Her face looked warm and flushed without make-up. Her eyes flashed as she pointed and explained. He felt the stirrings of desire, faint, familiar.

“Can I go now?” he called.

Marie, Angela and Denise all turned at the same time and said “No.” Diane giggled.

“Come on,” he pleaded. “There’s a million dollars worth of higher education in this room. Can’t you figure it out?”

“No, we can’t,” Angela said shortly. “We need the Princeton touch.”

Diane’s eyes popped open. “You went to Princeton?”

Michael was shaking his head. “No, I was accepted, but I never went. I wanted Julliard.” He shrugged. “I can’t see myself as a mathematician at this point, can you?”

“Math? Good Lord.” Diane was dumbfounded. “Well, do you think you can figure out what the perimeter of this room is, and how many sixteen inch stripes we can get in here?”

“Sure.” He reached for the pencil, and soon scrawled some numbers on the back of the paint sample. “Can I go play with the boys now?” he asked Angela.

His sister rolled her eyes and pushed him out of the room. Diane organized the women, and they were soon measuring and taping off their stripes, Angela carefully checking with the level. The women worked quickly, Diane mixing the glaze and paint, showing them how to work the dry brush. They all chatted non-stop. The sisters were all within ten years of Diane’s age, and they found plenty to talk about. At one point, Neil Bellini slipped away from the back yard to check on the women, and returned smiling.

“They’re all singing,” he reported happily.

Michael was holding a cedar post as Steve was pouring cement around the base. “That’s a good sign,” he said.

“Yeah. Crosby, Stills and Nash. Apparently Diane is an alto, and they finally have somebody willing to do harmony.”

Michael grinned. “Really? Very cool.”

Steve Tishman worked his shovel into the cement, then leveled it quickly. “I’m supposed to be pumping you for information,” he said to Michael. “You know your sisters. They want all the details.” Steve was very fond of his brother-in-law. He and Neil both were. Michael was one of them, despite the fame and money. He attended birthdays, helped clean up after holidays, or, like today, helped put together swing sets. He bought lavish gifts for the families, but always asked before bestowing anything on one of the kids. Steve had been married to Marie for over nineteen years, and had helped the family raise Michael.