Part 16 (2/2)
I certainly hoped so.
The waiter turned his eyes to me, and his wattage went down a notch.
”The same,” I said. ”And bring us a pitcher of Samuel Adams.”
”I didn't realize you were a regular,” I said after the waiter left.
”I've only been here once. Last summer I got to missing the Cubs, so I caught a Sox game at Fenway. It reminded me so much of Wrigley I got a little weepy. After nine innings, I'm always starving, so I followed the crowd here.”
”You've been here once, and the waiter remembers your name?”
”You don't think I'm memorable?”
”I think you're unforgettable.”
Just then, my cell vibrated. I slipped it out, checked the number, and put it back in my pants pocket.
”Nothing important?”
”Just a blast from the past.”
”The almost-ex?”
”How'd you guess?”
”What's she like? What kind of woman ends up with you?”
The phone started vibrating again. I pulled it out, flipped it open, placed it in the middle of the table, and pressed speaker.
”Mulligan.”
”You ... f.u.c.king ... b.a.s.t.a.r.d!”
”Good evening to you, too, Dorcas.”
”Who are you out whoring with tonight, you sonuvab.i.t.c.h?”
”I'm having dinner with a friend right now, Dorcas. Sorry, but don't have time for one of our friendly chats.”
”Don't you dare hang up on me, you G.o.dd.a.m.n-”
I flipped the phone shut and put it back in my pocket.
”d.a.m.n,” Yolanda said. ”What the h.e.l.l did you do to her?”
”Married her. She's never forgiven me for it.”
”Gotta be more to it than that.”
”She's unstable, Yolanda. She needs help.”
”So get her some.”
”I've tried, but she refuses. She thinks the rest of us are the crazy ones.”
”Whoa.”
”Yeah.”
We fell into an uncomfortable silence. Maybe introducing the object of my affection to Dorcas wasn't the smoothest move. The silence lengthened while I tried to think of something that would drown out the sound of my almost-ex's screech.
”She can make me sound like a monster,” I said. ”I'm not. I'm just a regular guy who made a bad choice.”
Yolanda smiled, and the mood lightened. ”You're not a regular white guy, Mulligan.”
”I'm not?”
”Uh-uh. Most of them try to impress me by quoting the 'I Have a Dream' speech, telling me how many black friends they have, and dropping the names of rappers, getting most of them wrong.”
”Gee,” I said. ”And to think I was just about to tell you how much I dig Jay-Z Hammer.”
She threw back her head and laughed. When the waiter finally showed up with our food, we spent the next half hour slurping, pulling fries from a gooey mountain of cheese, and licking our fingers. I loved watching her be so unlawyerlike.
Once we'd picked the cheese fries plate clean and drained the last of the beer, she didn't look any thicker than when we came in. I wasn't sure I could get through the rest of the evening without unb.u.t.toning my pants. And not in a good way.
On the drive home, we listened to more blues on the radio and talked about the show, the Cubs, and the Red Sox; but everything I said really meant ”Please let me kiss you.”
”Can't tell you how great this was, Mulligan,” Yolanda said as she pulled the Acura into the s.p.a.ce next to my Bronco. ”I felt like a human being instead of a lawyer for a change.”
”So where should we go next time?”
She turned off the ignition and turned toward me. ”You gonna make me say it again?”
”You don't date white guys.”
”You got it.”
”No one would have to know. I promise not to go public.”
”It's late,” she said. ”You should probably get going.”
We got out of the car, and I walked her to the door. She unlocked it, and when she turned around to say good night, I was right there, my face close. She threw her arms around my neck and hugged me hard and quick. Then she pulled away, went through the door, and closed it. I'd been summarily dismissed.
As I drove up the interstate toward Providence, I held on to her smile, her laugh, her scent, those tight jeans and red Tony Lamas. Maybe all was not lost. When she'd pulled back from that hug, she'd tilted her head for a fraction of a second, the way a woman does when she wants to be kissed.
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