neighborhood to neighborhood, and some of the worst plagues the Sunset, which is sometimes known as Fogville.
The young woman who opened the Tosi door was short and blond. And bland. At least that was my unkind take on her—anybody that cute and bouncy must be bland. I really ought to reform sometime, but meeting Cathy Tosi didn’t provide much inspiration for it. On closer inspection, it turned out she was bland.
When she smiled, she showed a mouthful of perfect teeth. She had on a sort of honey-beige lambswool sweater that said, “Look at me—I’m fluffy and cute,” in case the casual observer was half-blind or something. She was remarkably similar to Sally Devereaux, but nearly ten years younger.
Cathy took our names, seemed to recognize Chris’s, and went in search of Tony, leaving us in a sort of gold brocade wonderland. The living-room curtains were gold brocade and so was the sofa and so were the chairs. The carpet was gold wool, probably of very good quality, as were the various mass-produced dark wood tables in the room. There was a bit of Steuben glass, some heavy glass vases with bubbles in them, and on one wall was a reproduction of van Gogh’s
Sunflowers
. I couldn’t tell if it had been selected to go with the gold furnishings or the other way around.
Tony came in, apparently from some TV-equipped room at the rear of the house. He wore a Ralph Lauren polo shirt, and a pair of Calvin Klein jeans, and he had a gold chain around his neck and a Rolex watch on his wrist. I was sure that if there were any way to get a plain gold chain with a manufacturer’s label on it, Tony would have done it.
I had the same feeling I’d had before—that Tony was less substantial than Bob. But I could see the outline of his body very well underneath the polo shirt, and he certainly worked out, whether Bob did or not. Maybe Bob was a trifle overweight. Or maybe it wasn’t physical at all. Maybe it was the fact that Bob always seemed at ease, Tony perennially worried.
“Hi, Chris,” he said. “Rebecca. Is anything wrong?”
“Not at all,” said Chris. “We have some good news for you.”
“Can I get you anything?” asked Cathy.
It was cocktail hour, but both Chris and I asked for coffee, hoping that would take longer, giving us an excuse to stay and make apparent small talk after we’d stated our business.
We were already on the sofa, and Tony sat down in one of the gold brocade chairs. He looked out of place there, but I suppose Chris and I did, too. It wasn’t a room you could get comfortable in.
“The starter’s been found,” said Chris.
Tony’s face said it wished we would speak English. He was quiet for a while, apparently doing a slow translation, and when he finally spoke, it wasn’t worth waiting for. He said, “Oh?”
“The cryogenics firm had another batch,” Chris continued.
Cathy reappeared with the coffee. “Cream? Sugar?” That occupied the next few minutes, and I got the idea Tony was glad for some time to think. When he spoke again, he looked like a little kid begging for a new bike but pretty sure Mom and Dad couldn’t afford it. “I know you don’t know me,” he said, “and I don’t know how to say this, but… look, I want to tell you some things.”
Chris and I nodded, wearing our most sympathetic-lawyer looks. “I want to tell you about my brother and me.” His hand shook as he put his coffee cup on the table. “Bobby’s the oldest, you know what I mean? I always looked up to him, kind of let him tell me what to do and how to do it when we were kids. I sort of got in the habit of it. So everybody in the family, they always thought Bobby was smarter and kind of more…competent.” He made a face as he said the last word, as if it had given him trouble sometime.
“I guess I thought so, too,” he continued. “I mean, I guess it was me that gave them that idea in the first place, know what I mean?” Again, we nodded. “So, anyway, Bobby was kind of the
The young woman who opened the Tosi door was short and blond. And bland. At least that was my unkind take on her—anybody that cute and bouncy must be bland. I really ought to reform sometime, but meeting Cathy Tosi didn’t provide much inspiration for it. On closer inspection, it turned out she was bland.
When she smiled, she showed a mouthful of perfect teeth. She had on a sort of honey-beige lambswool sweater that said, “Look at me—I’m fluffy and cute,” in case the casual observer was half-blind or something. She was remarkably similar to Sally Devereaux, but nearly ten years younger.
Cathy took our names, seemed to recognize Chris’s, and went in search of Tony, leaving us in a sort of gold brocade wonderland. The living-room curtains were gold brocade and so was the sofa and so were the chairs. The carpet was gold wool, probably of very good quality, as were the various mass-produced dark wood tables in the room. There was a bit of Steuben glass, some heavy glass vases with bubbles in them, and on one wall was a reproduction of van Gogh’s
Sunflowers
. I couldn’t tell if it had been selected to go with the gold furnishings or the other way around.
Tony came in, apparently from some TV-equipped room at the rear of the house. He wore a Ralph Lauren polo shirt, and a pair of Calvin Klein jeans, and he had a gold chain around his neck and a Rolex watch on his wrist. I was sure that if there were any way to get a plain gold chain with a manufacturer’s label on it, Tony would have done it.
I had the same feeling I’d had before—that Tony was less substantial than Bob. But I could see the outline of his body very well underneath the polo shirt, and he certainly worked out, whether Bob did or not. Maybe Bob was a trifle overweight. Or maybe it wasn’t physical at all. Maybe it was the fact that Bob always seemed at ease, Tony perennially worried.
“Hi, Chris,” he said. “Rebecca. Is anything wrong?”
“Not at all,” said Chris. “We have some good news for you.”
“Can I get you anything?” asked Cathy.
It was cocktail hour, but both Chris and I asked for coffee, hoping that would take longer, giving us an excuse to stay and make apparent small talk after we’d stated our business.
We were already on the sofa, and Tony sat down in one of the gold brocade chairs. He looked out of place there, but I suppose Chris and I did, too. It wasn’t a room you could get comfortable in.
“The starter’s been found,” said Chris.
Tony’s face said it wished we would speak English. He was quiet for a while, apparently doing a slow translation, and when he finally spoke, it wasn’t worth waiting for. He said, “Oh?”
“The cryogenics firm had another batch,” Chris continued.
Cathy reappeared with the coffee. “Cream? Sugar?” That occupied the next few minutes, and I got the idea Tony was glad for some time to think. When he spoke again, he looked like a little kid begging for a new bike but pretty sure Mom and Dad couldn’t afford it. “I know you don’t know me,” he said, “and I don’t know how to say this, but… look, I want to tell you some things.”
Chris and I nodded, wearing our most sympathetic-lawyer looks. “I want to tell you about my brother and me.” His hand shook as he put his coffee cup on the table. “Bobby’s the oldest, you know what I mean? I always looked up to him, kind of let him tell me what to do and how to do it when we were kids. I sort of got in the habit of it. So everybody in the family, they always thought Bobby was smarter and kind of more…competent.” He made a face as he said the last word, as if it had given him trouble sometime.
“I guess I thought so, too,” he continued. “I mean, I guess it was me that gave them that idea in the first place, know what I mean?” Again, we nodded. “So, anyway, Bobby was kind of the
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