The Riverside Bistro; Part 3

Grey hoped he didn’t betray any of the sick edginess that was wreaking havoc within him.  He’d never done it before, and was discovering that it was no small feat to meet a young lady’s father for the first time.  Sweat was dampening the inside of his collar at the back of his neck and the muscles in his face were beginning to ache from holding them in a forced-neutral mask.   He had the feeling that the man would very much like to take him outside and castrate him.

Perhaps this encounter was especially brutal because he’d eloped with the man’s daughter without ever having said so much as a ‘hello’ to the man before. Or perhaps it was because this marriage was only for show and Grey had the uneasy feeling that her father suspected as much.  It took all of Grey’s willpower to remain steady, mild and unblinking when Mr. Ramirez looked at him.  He had the strangest urge to hang his head in shame, to back down and retreat.

“Magalita, why would you do this thing?” Hector’s gaze finally broke from his and Grey was grateful for the chance to close his eyes.  He was surprised at what an effect the man had on him.  He wasn’t sure what to make of it.  He felt exhausted and taut and ready for a physical altercation, yet he also seemed somewhat frozen where he was, in a sapped state of limbo.

What had he just called Maggie?  Grey re-opened his eyes and looked from father to daughter and back again.  Maggie was apparently at a loss for words.  Grey’d promised himself he wouldn’t do anything openly antagonistic or vindictive, but he’d also vowed to let her fend for herself. She’d made this mess for herself by trapping Grey in this marriage, by blackmailing him, and he wasn’t about to come to her rescue for anything.  Perhaps that’s why he was so surprised when the next words out of his mouth were “If you prefer sir, we can be married by a priest as well.” 

What the mother-fuck?  Why the fuck would he say something like that?  What a joke.

Grey mastered his face and body, managed to remain the image of calm, collected humility.  His heart was beating more rapidly than normal and he didn’t dare look at his parents.  He stayed focused on Ramirez, who sat back in his chair, a skeptical look on his face.  Grey guessed Maggie’s Father might be affronted by that half-assed offer he’d just made about the priest.  It had been a fairly arrogant asshole thing to say, to tack-on there.

Because of course if he’d given two shits for the man’s religion, given a fuck about the man’s good graces then Grey’d have gone to him and asked him, old-school style, for his daughter’s hand in marriage.  But that hadn’t happened.  Instead it had been all haste and secrecy and City Hall and now a last minute brunch.

“Do you love this boy Magalita?” His voice broke slightly.  Grey swallowed.  He hoped the man didn’t have a break-down. ‘Magalita’? Grey almost felt compelled to smile at the endearing little nickname.

‘Fuck my life.’

Half nervous, half curious, Grey found he wasn’t able to look at Maggie while he waited for her to answer, but was very intent to hear how she’d reply.  He stared at his Bloody Mary and waited for her to speak.

It came out as a meek little whisper, a strangled “yes.”

Grey wondered, for half a moment, if it was true.  She’d told him she loved him, and he’d used it to get her into his bed.  But she’d also been very adamant that she hated him when he’d broken it off with her, she’d been furious and bitter and fairly eloquent in her expression of odium.  Could she still harbor that feeling for him?  Love?  He furrowed his brow.  He hoped not.  That would make his life a great deal more difficult than it was already rapidly shaping up to be. 

Then it occurred to him that it was very likely the next question out of Hector’s mouth would be: ‘do you love my daughter?’

‘Oh fuck me sideways.  Don’t ask me that.’  Grey was certain he wouldn’t be able to meet the man’s eyes and lie point blank about his feelings for the man’s daughter.  ‘Don’t do it padre.’

“And you young man?”

Goddamnsonofableedingcunt. 

Grey waited.  Eyebrows raised, he stared at the drops of condensation on the outside of his tall crystal glass, watched one fat droplet finally give way and slide thickly down the smooth, clear surface.  A darkened halo was forming at the base of the glass where it sat on a chocolate brown cocktail napkin.  He could smell the sweet-acrid sting of tomato juice and the clean, sterile smell of the celery between his fingers.  He wanted the drink but was unable to move to lift it at that moment so he contented himself with slowly, methodically stirring the cool, fresh stalk in the garish red-orange pool of tomato drenched vodka.

He’d told Maggie that he loved her.  He’d said it easily, without blinking, and he’d sounded sincere.  But that had been for one reason only.  He was skilled at telling pretty young virgins that he loved them, had fallen in love, was a new man and all that other horseshit that seemed to melt their girlish hearts and inhibitions.  He’d told her he could see himself with her for the rest of his life.  But he hadn’t meant any of it, hadn’t believed it even for a moment.  It had all been a practiced, deliberate, well-rehearsed charade.

The irony of it was kicking him in the fucking balls.

He was an excellent liar. But somehow he knew the words would ring false if he were to answer Mr. Ramirez in that moment. 

“Can you provide for my daughter?”

Grey let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.  He met the man’s eyes squarely.

“Absolutely sir.” And Grey wished he could add: ‘you beautiful mother-fucker!’

He was relieved and grateful and filled with a respect for the man.  Grey decided Hector Ramirez was a class act.  Looking at the man now it was obvious to Grey that they both recognized what an absurdly unnecessary question that had been.  Grey had more money tucked away in his trust fund, he was sure, than this man had ever seen in his life.  Yet he’d asked that question because that’s what a father was supposed to ask, and he’d deliberately left the ‘love’ question out of it.  He was avoiding a scene.

There was a long moment of quiet at the table as it seemed everyone was waiting for Hector’s verdict.  From the other side of the restaurant Grey could hear the tinkling of the baby grand; someone was playing one of those old fashioned tunes, those classics that find their way into every other chick-flick romantic comedy on the market.  He thought his dad might have a recording of Louis Armstrong singing this one.

Hector had broken his gaze with Grey and was now staring past him to the view of the falls at Grey’s back.  Grey knew that his marriage to Maggie was binding, no matter what Hector had to say about it, but also knew the man’s words had the power to devastate his daughter and he hoped, for the sake of convenience, that the older man would give his blessing, however begrudgingly it may come.

“What’s done is done.” Hector said at last, sounding weary but resigned. 

Grey closed his eyes for a long moment.  If he was feeling this relieved he could only imagine how Maggie was feeling.  Not that he cared.

“Shall we have a toast?” hi mother asked sweetly, and signaled for Jonah to resume his work with the corkscrew.

Grey wasn’t sure if he should say something more.  He felt a tightness across his ribs and a squeezing in his throat but couldn’t dream up an appropriate response.

The light, hollow pop of the cork made him jump and he felt an irrational irritation with his fucking father.

He automatically picked up the crystal champagne flute as Jonah neared with the champagne and accepted the pour, though he’d have rather punched the smiley fucker in his fucking gut.  His old man was loving every minute of Grey’s misery.  Smug mother-fucker.

When all the flutes had been filled with pale fizzing wine, Jonah remained standing and held his aloft.  The sun from the windows was reflecting off Jonah’s glasses and Grey couldn’t see his eyes.  “To My son and his beautiful new bride—“  Grey grit his teeth while Jonah grinned warmly.  “May your marriage be a rewarding one, and may you love each other more every day.” What a fucking wise ass.  “Maggie—“ Jonah’s grin softened and a misty note colored his voice.  Give me a fucking break.  “We are so thrilled to welcome such a beautiful, intelligent, captivating young woman into our family.”  Grey heard his mother sniffle and saw Mr. Ramirez shift in his seat slightly.  “And Grey?” Grey’s mouth was set in a firm line as he forced himself to look at his dad. “I’ve never been prouder of you than I am today.”  Jonah extended the glass toward the center of the table.  “To Mr. and Mrs. Delaney!”

They all touched glasses, soft clink after soft clink, cheers and salut, and finally drank to the couple.  Grey glanced sideways at Maggie.  She’d only taken a very small sip.  He finished his own and picked up the Bloody Mary.

The Riverside Bistro; Part 2

Hector Ramirez had that feeling in his gut, that feeling that told him he wasn’t going to like whatever it was his daughter had to tell him.  At the Riverside Bistro, of all places, and only an hour and a half before Los Tres opened for lunch.  He was hassled, irritated, surly, and wet when he stepped through the heavy glass doors and saw her standing in the entryway, wringing her hands and waiting for him. 

He took off his fedora and shook it to the side of the no-slip industrial entry mat.  He had the same one at Los Tres.  He had never been in the Riverside, but he guessed the similarities between his place and this one would pretty much end at the floor mat. He snorted to himself.  Brunch.  He shook his head and looked at his daughter. 

The feeling in his gut got worse.  She looked very nervous.  When his Magdalena looked nervous it meant she was feeling guilty and if she was feeling guilty then she’d done something wrong.  He clucked his tongue softly and wondered, not for the first time, what news was big enough, what kind of news could possibly need to be told over Brunch at one of the town’s most pricey restaurants?

His father’s intuition told him it had to do with a boy.  Hector felt vaguely antagonistic already.

“Magdalena.”  He greeted, unable or unwilling to keep that tone of fatherly disapproval out of his voice.  He may as well have said: “Young lady…”  He used her full name, none of the pet names he liked to pepper her with.  Today she was Magdalena, not Maggie, not Magalita, not Magpie.

She straightened her spine, ceased her fidgeting and crossed to peck him on the cheek.  “Papa. Thank you for coming.”

He raised his eyebrows and sighed heavily.  “I have to get back before we open.” He grumbled.

She stood, waiting.

“Are we waiting for someone?”  He asked when she made no move to enter the restaurant.

“No, no—“ she cast a surreptitious glance to his right.  Following her eyes Hector was startled to find a small, wrinkled, blue-haired matron watching them openly from an enclosed counter.

“Care to check your hat and coat sir?”  The old thing asked dryly, her voice deep and husky from years of cigarettes.

So the Riverside Bistro was the type of place that had a coat check.  Hector resisted the urge to growl and muscled himself out of his durable canvas jacket.  He’d rushed to dress, settling on a polo shirt usually reserved for Sunday Mass, and black trousers.  He’d keep the trousers on for Los Tres and only have to switch shirts.  He didn’t have a nicer overcoat than the canvas one except for his heavy wool winter coat, and he only wore that to funerals or high holy days.

Handing the very wet jacket and fedora to the woman and receiving a small heavy-plastic number token in return Hector couldn’t help but grimace.  No good would come of this brunch.  He was sure of it. 

He turned back to Magdalena and she tried to win him over with a small smile.  She looked enough like her mother when she made that face that he softened a little.  He looked her up and down.  She was wearing a dark red dress, expensive looking and too low in the neckline for his liking.  He saw her swallow hard.

“You should have a sweater on or something.” He told her gruffly.  She was dressed too nice to be working here, he decided, relieved at least that she wouldn’t be abandoning him at Los Tres completely.  He already disapproved of her part-time job at the Wine Store, complaining that he needed her at the family restaurant, but she’d been stubborn as a mule about it.

She deflected his fashion critique.  “Ready?”  It sounded as if she were asking it of herself more than him.

She began to walk into the restaurant, reining her pace until he met her stride.

“Did you win the lottery or something?” Hector wondered how much this little meal would end up costing him.

A handsome woman stepped in front of their path.  “Do you have reservations?” She asked, not exactly rude, but not exactly polite either.

The Riverside Bistro was the kind of place that required reservations at 11:45 in the morning.  Hector snorted again.  He had to admit that the soft, warm lighting was enchanting and the richness of the décor was simple; tasteful, elegant, modern and very expensive looking.  They had a wide variety of ferns and potted trees and plants and all the artwork was framed in wide, bold, black, and the earth tones were very effective.  He tisked. 

“Um, we’re with someone.” Maggie told the hostess, a small note of panic coloring her words.  Hector had the feeling that Maggie thought they might be denied entrance.

“With which party?” Enquired the hostess, a false smile locked into place under humorless eyes.  Hector thought she could be an attractive woman if she weren’t so cold and suspicious.

“Over there—“  Maggie gestured toward the back of the restaurant where a wide panoramic view curved across the entire back wall of the Bistro.  Hector let out a low whistle.  That was a view to be envied.  It looked as though the Restaurant was floating right out over top of the river, and the view of the falls was stunning.

The Hostess tuned over her shoulder and turned back, a skeptical eyebrow raised.  “I’m sorry, which party?”

Hector heard his daughter huff just a little.

“Delaney” she answered defiantly.  Had he not been so astonished by what she’d said he might have chuckled at her fiery temper.  She was so much like her mother.

“Delaney?” Hector and the hostess spoke in unison.   Hector wondered if this was some kind of work thing afterall.  Had she been promoted at the wine shop?

“Yes, Delaney.” Said Maggie, stepping resolutely around the hostess and striding into the dining room.  Hector hustled to catch up, but not before sharing an astonished look with the hostess.

 Maggie made a bee-line for the back of the restaurant where Jonah Delaney, his wife Velvet, and their son Grey all rose to greet them.  Hector knew these Delaneys well enough.  Besides being wealthy and prominent in the community, Jonah was also deputy superintendent of schools, and the couple were frequent patrons of Los Tres.

These were not the owners of the Wine Shoppe, Hector was certain of that, this was the brother of Magdalena’s employer. Hector’s puzzlement furrowed his brow and he didn’t doubt he looked fearsome as he approached the table.  The young man seemed to wash over pale for a moment before extending his hand in greeting.

“Mr. Ramirez.” When the young man spoke it was with confidence that betrayed none of the alarm Hector was sure he’d seen as he’s neared.  “A pleasure to meet you sir.  I’m Grey Delaney.”

So this was about a boy.  Hector said a sort of half-prayer half-oath inside his head.  To be the father of daughters!

Hector managed to nod, though not to smile.  He turned toward the boy’s parents.  What in God’s name was this ambush all about? 

“My father, Jonah Delaney,” the young man continued formally. Hector shook the man’s hand.  He wondered why this man should look so joyful when he, of all men should sympathize, having four daughters of his own to deal with.  Perhaps the man was celebrating the fact that he was here as the father of a son today and not the other way around.  It would be so much easier to have sons.

“Mr. Ramirez, good to meet you.” Said Jonah cordially as he pumped Hector’s hand.  “My wife, Velvet.”  He stepped out of the way so his elegant wife could move forward to greet Hector.

She took his hand in both hers and then moved in to kiss his cheeks, first one then the other.  “Mr. Ramirez!” she exclaimed and he felt flustered by her effusive enthusiasm.  Her radiant smile was so infectious he had little choice but to melt a bit and allowed a polite, an almost sheepish smile. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Delaney.”  Hector nodded.  “It’s good to see you both.”  ‘Outside the world of my restaurant’ he added silently.

Jonah Delaney moved around Hector and extended his hand toward Magdalena.  “Jonah Delaney.” He introduced himself warmly.

“Maggie.” She answered almost shyly.  Hector resisted the impulse to scoff.  His Maggie was not a shy girl.  It must have been the surroundings.  Even he felt a bit intimidated. 

“Please, let’s sit!”  Mrs. Delaney cooed warmly.  Her husband moved to hold the chair for her and when Hector made to follow suit he found Grey Delaney already moving to hold his daughter’s chair.

Christ almighty.  Hector grabbed the back of his own chair roughly and planted himself at the table, readying himself for a brunch he sincerely wished weren’t happening.

Magdalena was still young.  She was still his little girl.  Of course he recognized that she was eighteen now, a college student, and had been excessively independent since about the age of twelve, but none of that mattered.  He knew she wasn’t ready for, well, for whatever warranted a brunch date at The Riverside.

When all were seated a silence settled over the table.  Everyone looked at each other.  Finally Mrs. Delaney laughed.  It was a musical thing, light and sweet and full of warmth.  Hector instantly liked her very much.  She was elegant, surely, but she didn’t seem to be the snob some might have guessed her to be.  She was always down-to-earth and kind whenever she visited Los Tres, and his waiters and busboys loved her because she tipped fifty percent every time without fail.

“Can I expect you this Thursday Mr. and Mrs. Delaney?”  Hector asked, smiling a little and trying to relax.  It helped to talk shop. There were few subjects Hector preferred to talk about more.  The store, his girls’ achievements, his dreams for retirement, and futbol.  Those were his topics of choice, and possibly in that order.  Today he feared would turn to talk of his daughter and, not feeling quite ready, he deflected before it began.

Jonah chuckled.  “Are we that predictable?”  Velvet shared his laughter.  The young people, Hector noticed, smiled-- but the smile didn’t reach the eyes.  That feeling in his gut soured further.

“I like predictable patrons!”  Hector responded jovially “You are some of my most loyal customers.”

“We love your restaurant!” Velvet confided.  “I think I’d eat there more often if Jonah would let me!” 

“We’d eat there every night I think, if she had her way.”  Hector envied the man’s relaxed posture.  He’d like to see this man when a daughter of his would spring something like this on him.

A waitress approached the table then for drink orders.  Normally Hector reserved the drinking of spirits for Sundays, baptisms, first communions, weddings or funerals.  Today he ordered a Tequila Sunrise.  His daughter shot him a look.  “What?  It’s brunch.” 

She looked embarrassed.  Did she object to his drinking or was it that she didn’t want him ordering tequila in front of these WASPs?  He bristled a little at the thought. 

Mr. Delaney smiled at the exchange.  He seemed to be in a very pleasant mood indeed and Hector almost resented the man’s good cheer.

“I’ll have one too, I think.”  Jonah said to the waitress.

Hector appreciated the gesture of camaraderie, recognizing that Mr. Delaney would not normally order a tequila drink of his own volition, but that same gesture made him feel even more grim about the looming news. 

When the drink orders had been placed Velvet whispered some instructions to the waitress before dismissing her. 

“Should we wait for Mrs. Ramirez?” Asked Velvet, eyes wide.

Hector didn’t speak.  He wasn’t sure why, but he suddenly felt tongue tied.

“My mother passed away.”  Maggie said for the both of them, simply.  It had been years.  There was no sorrow, no fresh stab, it was fact.

“Oh I’m so sorry!” She looked horrified that she’d made such a faux pas.  Hector’s heart went out to her.

“Not at all, not at all Mrs. Delaney.  I’ve been a widower for many years.”  He said soothingly.  He didn’t want to make her feel awkward.

She almost looked more pained.  “Oh, Mr. Ramirez, please, forgive me—“

“Please; Hector.” Hector said warmly.

She smiled.  “Hector.” 

“No apologies necessary.”  He smiled and gave a short nod and it was understood that the topic was closed.

“Well thank you so much for coming over on such short notice.”  Hector admired her grace and ease with conversation.  She was a true lady; she had the ability to put those around her at ease and to charm without being smarmy.  “I had to beg Jonah to leave work!” she put her hand on her husband’s where it lay on the table and he smiled.

“It wasn’t easy to get away.” Jonah admitted.  “But,” and now he looked at his son “It sounded very important.”  There was that easy smile again. 

Grey Delaney stared back at his father and Hector detected a streak of defiance in the look, insolence even, though the young man wore an effectively masked expression of pleasant neutrality.  Hector let his eyes move to his daughter.  She was unable to paste such a neutral face over her brimming emotions.  She was nervous and looked a bit ill.

“Yes,” Hector agreed with Jonah after a moment.  “Maggie knows how busy I am before the restaurant opens but she insisted I come down to brunch.”  He smiled, letting the statement sound more jovial than he felt about it.

“Oh, apologies about the last-minute nature of it all!”  Mrs. Delaney flashed a thrilled smile.  “It was an impulse and I just had to do it!” She lifted her shoulders up in excitement.

“This was your idea?”  Hector couldn’t help smiling at the lady. 

“Guilty.”  She said as she reached for her goblet of ice water. The parents all shared a small laugh while their children smiled politely.

A busboy came to remove the extra place setting.  Hector wished powerfully that his Rose could be there across the table from him, helping him deal with whatever this was shaping up to be.  Maggie too looked a bit distracted by the removal of the unnecessary setting.  He watched her hand unconsciously float up to her chest where she twisted her saint’s medal between her thumb and forefinger, her eyes far away.

“Well I’m not sure I can stand the anticipation.” Jonah said so that Hector wouldn’t have to do it.  Hector gave the slightest nod of thanks to the man and they shared a small moment of mutual understanding.  “What’s the occasion?”

“Oh!” Velvet looked torn between delight and anxiety.  “Not yet!”  She leaned a little in her seat and scanned the restaurant with her eyes, looking for someone or something.  “Maggie tell us about yourself!” 

All eyes went to Magdalena, who looked distinctly on-the-spot.  She shook her head slightly and Hector imagined he could almost hear the butterflies flapping in her stomach.  “Tell you—what?”

“Tell us about yourself, your interests, your work?”  Velvet was engaging, not demanding.  She coaxed instead of prodded.

“Well, I work at Los Tres of course—“ she began self-consciously.  “And three days a week at Delaney’s Wine Shoppe—“ She continued and Jonah gave a little ‘aha’ of recognition.  He’d probably seen her there before.  Hector was trying to piece this all together.  Jonah was just meeting his daughter for the first time right now, just as he, Hector was meeting the Delaney boy for the first time.  But Mrs. Delaney seemed to already be acquainted with Maggie, yet not well, yet well enough to want to have a big family brunch?  Hector shook his head and looked around fruitlessly for his Tequila drink.

“And I started college this past fall.” Maggie finished.

“What’s your major—have you chosen yet?”  Jonah sipped some water and leaned forward.

“Elementary Education.” Maggie answered with a smile, which Jonah returned.

“Wonderful!” he seemed genuinely enthusiastic.  “Are you interested in public or private schools?”

“Public, preferably,” Maggie answered immediately “But I’m open to charter schools as well, if their mission is strong and their methods are innovative.”

Hector and Grey wore similar expressions of bewilderment.  Hector had never bothered asking her questions about her plans for the future other than to ask how she planned on paying for college and if she was choosing a solid career for herself.  He watched the boy’s face and realized that Grey’d probably never inquired about his daughter’s career path either, at least not more than in a superficial way.

“Ahh, very wise of you.” Jonah praised.  “Charters can be enormously inventive and productive places for young teachers.  It can be a great way to get experience—“

The waitress arrived with a tray of drinks. 

“—Of course I have to encourage you to look into the public schools here.”  He and Velvet laughed.  “I might get fired if I speak too kindly of private schools and charters.”

“I went to private school.” Grey said, lifting his freshly delivered Bloody Mary to his lips.

“And I almost never hear the end of it at work!”  Jonah wasn’t allowing his son’s arrogant disdain to quell his high spirits.  Hector looked from father to son.  He’d heard that Jonah wasn’t the boy’s real father and looking at them now Hector had no doubts about the veracity of those rumors.  Whatever had happened had happened before Hector and Rosa and the girls moved to Cedar Falls.  The boy did look familiar to Hector, but then, the young man frequented Los Tres enough over the years to be recognizable.  But this boy was not this man’s son.

“And how old are you sweetheart?” Velvet asked Maggie, diffusing whatever smart-ass comment her son was preparing to shoot back at her husband.  Hector got the impression that she performed that task frequently, so skilled was she in the execution.

“I’m eighteen.” Answered Maggie.

All the drinks were on the table and another waitress arrived to flank the first, holding a wine bucket in one hand and three flutes in the other.  A third waiter arrived with an additional pair of flutes and in a coordinated effort the three placed champagne flutes infront of all the party members and left the ice bucket on a small collapsible tray table beside Mrs. Delaney.  The riverside Bistro was the kind of place that could spare three waitstaff members to deliver Champagne and glasses in perfect coordination.

Hector grimaced.  Champagne.  His mood darkened and he refused to look toward his daughter.  He focused all his attention on the arrogant young man across the table from him.  He sincerely wanted the boy to feel threatened. 

Grey felt the stare and turned his head to find Hector’s eyes boring into his own.  He slowly let his hand pull his drink away from his lips and set it down on the table, all without breaking eye contact.  Hector wondered when they boy would finally capitulate and look away.

He didn’t.  “Mr. Ramirez, I suppose you’re impatient to know what we’ve dragged you up here for.”

Hector’s mustache twitched.  The boy had balls.  Hector had given this look to every and all male friends of Maggie’s and they tended to fold like napkins; and afterward they never dared to be anything more than strictly platonic friends with Maggie.

Hector finally looked away, lifting his sunrise to his lips and taking a long sip of it. The falls were impressive.

“Yes, what’s the occasion?” Jonah inquired animatedly.

Hector watched Grey glance at his mother, who gave a little nod of approval.  Apparently the Champagne would be poured after this announcement.

Grey and Maggie exchanged a look and seemed to be communicating wordlessly.  Finally Maggie nodded and turned to face her captive audience.

“Papa.” Maggie swallowed and took a steadying breath.  Hector waited.  He was not a man known for his patience, but he waited.  “We got married today.”  She tried to smile but it was apprehensive.

The table seemed to be holding a collective breath.  Hector pressed his lips together.  He honestly couldn’t identify precisely what emotion he was experiencing.  He was unable to speak.

After a very tense few moments Jonah stood and moved around the table. “Congratulations!”  He pulled Maggie to her feet and kissed both her cheeks.  “How wonderful!” He said.  She blushed and thanked him and looked back at her own father.  He was stony.  Jonah continued to cover the tension by shaking Grey’s hand and clapping him on the back.  “I thought I spied a wedding ring on that finger,” he said with a chuckle. 

Looking now Hector saw a plain band encircling his daughter’s left ring finger, and a larger, similar band on the Delaney boy.

“Jonah, let’s have a toast.” Velvet urged quietly, and she rubbed her son’s shoulder affectionately as he settled back into his seat.

“Of course!”  Jonah moved to the bucket.  He started babbling cheerily about how he always bungled the cork on champagne and did Velvet remember last New Year’s?  Hector knew they were trying to avoid watching, waiting for his reaction.  He knew the Delaney boy had hardly taken his eyes off him and could feel Maggie watching too.

“Papa?” She asked quietly. He wasn’t able to look at her face.  He focused his gaze on the boy instead, and to the boy’s credit he did not shrink, but sat rather soberly.  Hector almost wanted him to make a smart-ass comment, or betray some hint of something in his eyes.  He was angry and would like an excuse to throttle the boy.

“Where?” Was the first word Hector spoke.  Jonah stopped prattling and Velvet’s smile slipped a little.  Everyone stopped.

“City Hall.” Maggie replied, knowing what he was thinking.

“Then you are not married.”

Still nothing.  The young man betrayed no flicker of emotion.  Just stared intently at Hector.  He was a smart young man. Hector could tell that—he had intelligent eyes and gave the impression that wheels and gears were turning rapidly inside his head, but outwardly he was calm, collected and unperturbed.

“Papa, please—“ Hector knew his daughter was afraid he’d make a scene.  Mother Mary help him, he wanted to make a scene. His gut was beginning to boil.

“You are not married in the eyes of God.”  Hector announced a little louder than he’d meant to.  He knew it wasn’t fashionable, knew it would embarrass his daughter but he felt no shame, only righteous indignation.

The young man blinked several times slowly.  “We are married in the eyes of the state.” He said without recrimination.

“Papa, we have the documents—“

“Magalita, why would you do this thing?”  He turned at last to his eldest girl and thought his heart would break.

Maggie shot a glance around the table.  She was very aware of the three Delaneys and how awkward things had become.  Hector cared not at all.  He thought he knew why she’d done it.  He just couldn’t fathom why the boy had agreed to it.

Hector had married Maggie’s mother when she was starting to show; he was no fool.  These two kids looked to be near strangers and in his experience there were only a precious few reasons two strangers ended up before a justice of the peace.  But he and Rose had been in love.  He’d always intended to marry her, from the moment he’d laid eyes on her.  Her condition had only served to speed fate along.

These two were different.  Hector felt a clenching in his chest.  She was so young.  So beautiful.  She could have had anybody but now she was stuck with this young man.  This no good bastard.  Hector had heard enough stories to distrust the boy.  He’d seen him at his restaurant with a different pretty face each time.  Not that he begrudged men sowing their oats, just not with his little girl.

Out of the corner of his eye Hector saw Mrs. Delaney put a hand on her husband’s sleeve. 

“If you prefer sir,” Grey spoke after Maggie opened and closed her mouth several times with no result. “We can be married by a priest as well.”  Maggie’s hand went back to her silver medal.

Hector sat back in his chair.  What did it matter to this young horse’s ass whether or not he spoke false vows in front of a man of the cloth?  It was a mockery.

“Do you love this boy Magalita?” His voice broke slightly.  He’d wanted to sound stern, he hadn’t quite managed it.

She couldn’t meet his eyes.  “Yes.” It was little more than a whisper.  She had never been terribly good at lying.  Hector nodded slowly, lips pursed, fists on the table. He recognized that she was terrified.  Backed into this corner by her own stupidity, her own foolishness, her naïveté.

But, Hector reasoned with himself, she wasn’t entirely to blame.  She’d been preyed upon.  He dragged his eyes from his daughter’s face to the boy’s.  The young man was slowly swirling the celery stick in his Bloody Mary, his eyebrows drawn together, focused on a spot on the table in front of him.  Hector wondered if the boy was trying to decide how to answer if Hector posed the same question to him.  From what he could sense of this boy he seemed to be one who would resent having to make-believe when backed into a corner.

And if he wouldn’t pretend and Hector asked him outright it would humiliate his daughter in front of her new in-laws. He sucked his teeth.  “And you young man?”

Maggie stiffened and Grey’s eyebrows raised. 

“Can you provide for my daughter?” Hector was sure the entire table let out a collective breath.

The boy had the good sense not to laugh at the absurdity of the question.  Something in his eyes told Hector that he’d appreciated the pass he’d been given on the ‘do you love my daughter’ inquest.

“Absolutely sir.” The young man responded without hesitation.

There was a long silence then.  Maggie played with her necklace, the boy stirred the celery, Mr. Delaney removed his glasses and cleaned them carefully, Mrs. Delaney traced the edge of her cloth napkin with an index finger and Hector stared through the enormous windows at the majestic falls.

The subtle chords of a sweet and familiar tune underscored the quiet of the table.  Hector had a great deal left to say but this was not the time or place.  He had no desire to embarrass his daughter or these lovely people.

“What’s done is done.” Hector said at last, weary but resigned.

“Shall we have a toast?” Velvet asked sweetly, and signaled Jonah to resume his work with the corkscrew.

The Riverside Bistro; Part 1

Jonah had not wanted to take time from work for an impromptu brunch.  His wife had had to beg, plead, and cajole him. He was in the running for the biggest promotion of his career; he was being carefully watched and a long lunch would be frowned upon; extra time on a busy Monday didn’t look good for a candidate for the Superintendent job.

But he did it anyway.  As guilty as he had been of late he’d likely knock-over a convenience store if Velvet asked nicely enough.

Standing just inside the door of The Riverside Bistro Jonah dangled his dripping briefcase at arm’s length and rattled as many raindrops off it as he could before slipping carefully out of his sopping trench coat.  He was apologetic to the coat-check woman, a frail old biddy with a bluish permanent and petal-pink lipstick.  She took the wet things from him with a resigned air and a half smile that made Jonah wonder if she’d suffered a stroke in her recent past.

Slipping the numbered resin chip she’d handed over into his inside breast pocket and, retrieving his glasses, he took a moment to slip them on, smooth his hair into place and check his breath.  He’d had four large cups of coffee and needed a mint.

“Here.” A gravelly voice cracked to his right.  The coat-check matron held a crystal bowl of mints out.  He smiled gratefully and took several. 

“Much obliged.” He made a mental not to tip her well when he returned to claim his things.

Popping two of the too-sweet mints he crossed from the entryway into the warmly lit main body of the restaurant.  It was all earth tones and soft piano music, amber lights and real plants.  The wide panoramic windows in the back were the bistro’s claim to fame—a breathtaking view of the falls and river.  Tables by the window were difficult to get even at slow times—you usually had to know somebody or be known. Velvet had a table by the windows.

Smiling to the hostess and gesturing wordlessly to the back he passed through the restaurant toward her where she sat stirring a spoon in a cup of tea and browsing the menu. He surprised her with a kiss on the top of her head and she looked up at him with a grin.  “Hello beautiful.”  He said easily and moved to take a seat.  It was only then that he noticed how many place settings were arranged on the table, and how many chairs.  He gave her an inquisitive head tilt.

“Hello sweetheart!” she gushed.  She was radiant.

“What’s going on?”  He pointed to two or three chairs, unsure where he should settle.  She pointed to the one across from her seat as she responded.

“It’s a bit of a surprise.”  She bit her lip.  Velvet was no good with surprises.  He hadn’t opened a single Christmas present in 24 years without already having been told what was inside.

He hoped his pleasant smile hadn’t wavered.  He really wasn’t in the right mental space for surprises.  He’d had too many of them in the last couple of days.

“What kind of surprise?”  He asked, reaching for a glass of ice water.

“No—“ Velvet stopped him and redirected his hand to the next glass.  “You always steal the wrong water!” She giggled.  He shook his head and smiled—she was giddy and in his state of over-tiredness he was finding her buoyancy difficult to resist.

“What sort of surprise?” He persisted, chuckling a little.  “Who’s joining us?”

Just then Velvet was looking past him and she rose from her seat with a little wave to someone behind him.  Sipping from the correct water glass Jonah swiveled in his seat to see where Velvet was looking.

He choked on the water.  Sputtering, he moved quickly to put the glass back, ice jingling and sloshing in his haste.  Velvet moved quickly to pat him on the back.  He only had to clear his throat a few times before he managed to tell her he was fine and stood up to greet his son.

So it was happening.  Jonah focused on regaining his wind and stood facing Grey, ready.  Jonah had no doubt that this little brunch had been Grey’s idea, his plan for trapping him into giving the little bastard all the money in the world.  And at that moment, with Velvet’s small hand still on his back and her large, concerned eyes looking up at him, Jonah knew he would move heaven and earth to keep her from knowing whatever Grey knew.

His son was giving him a mocking little smile.  “You alright Dad?”  He asked.  “Guess I got you back for the other day, huh?”  His smile spread into a wide, menacing grin and he laughed.

Jonah clenched his teeth.  Should he take him outside right now?  How would he do this without being obvious, without alerting Velvet that anything was amiss?

“What happened?  When?”  Velvet was amused but puzzled.

When Jonah didn’t speak Grey answered for him.  “Oh, this weekend; you were upstate and Dad scared the sh—“ Velvet raised her eyebrows “--almost gave me a heart attack sneaking up on me in the den—I nearly choked to death.”

“Oh you men!” She gushed sweetly.

“Water goes down a little easier than scotch.” Jonah said wryly, not taking his eyes off Grey. The young man continued to smile.  He was too calm for Jonah’s liking.  “Velvet, if you’ll excuse us, I actually need to talk to Grey—“

But Velvet bowled right over Jonah “But where is Maggie?” she was leaning to peer around the men toward the front of the restaurant, eyes scanning, her expression mildly distressed.

Jonah hesitated.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“She’s up front waiting for her father.” Grey answered his mother and moved to hold her chair for her. 

She smiled an indulgent smile and allowed him to push her chair in.  Jonah stood, unsure of what to do. 

Grey also took a seat and only Jonah was left hovering beside the table.  The piano music was mellow and understated.  Jonah stared at the falls. “Who are we—“ 

But Velvet and Grey were standing up again.  Jonah spun around more quickly than he’d meant to and felt clumsy, jumpy.

To his enormous relief, approaching them was no one he knew.  No one he’d committed terrible crimes with or against.  He felt some of the tension in his chest loosen enough to allow him breath and he grabbed the back of his chair for some extra support.  For a moment he’d really believed it would all be over, that his secrets would be dragged into the soft amber light of the Riverside Bistro.

He looked at Grey.  Maybe the boy didn’t know anything.  Grey’s eyes were fixed on the two people approaching their table.

Jonah followed his gaze and watched a petite but curvy young woman walking with a confidence that belied something more anxious beneath, and a short-ish, round-ish, bald-ish, mustachioed middle-aged man who might normally appear pleasant but was wearing a stern, suspicious look that Jonah recognized as a father’s unease.  He imagined he’d looked like that when Avalon had introduced her fiancée to the family.

Jonah suddenly looked back at Grey.  The young man was not smiling anymore, he looked sober.  Jonah’s eyes flicked downward and he caught the small metallic flash just before Grey turned his body and his other hand extended in a handshake toward the intimidating bull-dog of a man with the pretty young daughter.

Son-of-a-bitch.  Jonah’s face broke into a wide, genuine smile.  He wasn’t about to be blackmailed.  His secret was safe.  This was a pleasant surprise after all.