“Come on,” I said. “We gotta meet Susan at Casa Romero at six.”
“She’s coming?”
“Yeah.”
“Why does she have to come?”
“Because I love her and I haven’t seen her in a couple of weeks.”
He nodded.
Susan was standing on the corner of Gloucester and Newbury when we walked up. She had on a pale gray skirt and a blue blazer with brass buttons and a white oxford shirt open at the throat and black boots with very high heels. I saw her before she saw me. Her hair looked glossy in the afternoon sun. She was wearing huge sunglasses. I stopped and looked at her. She was looking for us up Newbury and we were on Gloucester.
Paul said, “What are we stopping for?”
“I like to look at her.” I said. “I like to see her sometimes as if we were strangers and watch her before she sees me.”
“Why?”
“My ancestors are Irish,” I said.
Paul shook his head. I whistled through my teeth at Susan. “Hey, cutie,” I yelled. “Looking for a good time?”
She turned toward us. “I prefer sailors,” she said.
As we walked down the little alley to the entrance I gave Susan a quick pat on the backside. She smiled, but rather briefly.
It was early. There was plenty of room in the restaurant. I held Susan’s chair and she sat down opposite Paul and me. The room was attractive and Aztecky with a lot of tile and, as far as I could see, absolutely no Mexicans.
We ate beans and rice and chicken mole and cabrito and flour tortillas. Paul ate a surprising amount, although he was careful to poke at each item with his fork tines first, as if to see that it was dead, and he sampled very tiny bits to make sure it wasn’t poisonous. Susan had a margarita and I had several Carta Blanca beers. There wasn’t much conversation. Paul ate staring into his plate. Susan responded to me mostly in short answers and while there was no anger in her voice I sensed no pleasure either.
“Suze,” I said over coffee, “since I’m spending the rest of the evening at ballet I was hoping this would be the high point.”
“Did you really,” she said. “Am I to gather you’re disappointed?”
Paul was eating pineapple ice cream for dessert. He stared down into it as he ate. I looked at him then at Susan.
“Well, you seemed a little quiet.”
“Oh?”
“I think I will pursue this, if at all, another time,” I said.
“Fine,” she said.
“Would you care to join us at ballet?” I said.
“I think I will not,” she said. “I don’t really enjoy ballet”
The waiter presented the check. I paid it
“May we drop you somewhere?” I said.
“No, thank you. My car is just down Newbury Street”
I looked at my watch, “Well, we’ve got a curtain to make. Nice to have seen you.”
Susan nodded and sipped her coffee. I got up and Paul got up and we left.
CHAPTER 20
I had never been to a ballet before, and while I was interested in the remarkable things the dancers could do with their bodies, I wasn’t looking forward to the next time. Paul obviously was. He sat motionless and intent beside me throughout the program.
Driving back to Maine I said to him, “Ever been to a ballet before?”
“No. My dad said it was for girls.”
“He’s half right again,” I said. “Just like the cooking.”
Paul was quiet.
“Would you like to do ballet?”
“You mean be a dancer?”
“Yeah.”
“They’d never let me. They think it’s… they wouldn’t let me.”
“Yeah, but if they would, would you want to?”
