At which point the ineffable Felicia came in with my supper.
CHAPTER 30
WHATEVER happened to that Harvard woman you used to date?' Susan said.
'Daisy or Cindy?' Hawk said. 'They both from Harvard.'
'Well, tell me about both of them,' Susan said. 'I didn't realize you had this passion for intellectuals.'
'I'se here with you, missy.'
'True,' Susan said. 'Which one was Daisy?'
I probed the sliced turkey with my fork. It was densely blanketed with a dark gravy.
'Daisy is the redhead, taught black studies.' Hawk's face was without expression. Susan raised her eyebrows.
'Yeah,' Hawk said. 'This a while ago. Everybody teaching black studies.
Red-haired broad with freckles, grew up in Great Neck, Long Island. Only black people she ever saw were from the Long Island Expressway driving through Jamaica.'
'I assume her emphasis tended toward the more theoretical aspects of the black experience,' Susan said.
I ate some turkey. It was pretty tender, but the gravy was hard to chew.
'She'd read Invisible Man six times,' Hawk said. 'Everything Angela Davis ever wrote. Told me she ashamed of being white. Told me she thought maybe she black in another life.'
I tried some mashed potatoes. They were chewy, too.
'An African princess perhaps?' I said. It came out muffled because I was still gnawing on the mashed potatoes.
'Amazing you should guess that,' Hawk said.
'Funny, isn't it,' I said-and paused and tried to swallow the potato, and succeeded on the second try-'how people almost never seem to have been four-dollar whores in a Cape Town crib in another life.'
'Anyway, me and Daisy used to go to The Harvest for dinner,' Hawk said.
'The Harvest?' Susan said.
'Un huh,' Hawk said.
I put a forkful of lukewarm succotash in my mouth, chewed it aggressively and swallowed it, hoping to tamp down the potatoes a bit.
'My God,' Susan said. 'The thought of you at The Harvest.'
'Un huh,' Hawk said.
'People in The Harvest talk about Proust,' Susan said. 'And Kierkegaard.'
'Daisy talk about my elemental earthiness,' Hawk said.
'And they talk about whether they have a date for Saturday night,' Susan said. 'And sometimes they discuss your sign.'
'You been going there without me?' I said.
'Certainly. While you're out waltzing through the woods with your faithful dog, I'm at the bar in The Harvest, wearing a beret, reading Paris-Match, sipping white wine, and smoking imported cigarettes with my hand turned the wrong way.'
'Waiting for Mister Right?' I said.
'Yes. In a seersucker jacket.'
'Mister Right don't wear no seersucker jacket,' Hawk said.
'Sandals?' Susan said.
Hawk shook his head.
'Chinos and Bass Weejuns?'
'Nope.'
'Does he wear his sweater draped over his shoulder like a shawl?'
'Positively not,' Hawk said.
'He wears blue blazers with brass buttons,' I said. 'And has a nose that's encountered adversity.'
'And an eighteen-inch neck?' Susan said.
'That's the guy,' I said.
'Yes, it is,' Susan said.
'Other woman was Cindy Astor,' Hawk said. 'Taught at the Kennedy School.Only female full professor they had when I was with her. Specialized in LowCountry politics. Had a law degree, a master's in English, a Ph.D. in Dutch history. Used to work for the StateDepartment, spent some time at the American Embassy in Brussels. Smart.'
