Dennis was his usual slovenly self in a gray glen-plaid three-piece suit, brilliant white shirt with burgundy silk tie, and shiny cordovan wingtips. Denny’s the only man I know under sixty who can wear wingtips and not look silly. As he turned to start up the steps, he glanced down at the platinum Rolex on his left wrist, giving me a glimpse of his gold cufflinks.
“Hah!” I said to him as he approached us. “We beat!”
“You’re early,” he said.
“Still beat,” I told him.
Grinning, he ignored me and stepped over to Laura and took both her hands in his.’
“Laura,” he said, “it’s taken a while, but you are definitely worth the wait.”
Laura gave his hands a squeeze.
“You’re special to him, Dennis. That means you’re special to me, too.”
“I can understand the attraction on his part,” Dennis said, “but I’m lost as to your motivation. Have you taken him on as some sort of project, or did you lose a bet or what?”
Laura smiled and said, “Oh, he has his moments.”
“Hey,” I said. “Man standing here, taking all this in.”
Dennis held out his arm for Laura and said, “Shall we?”
“Of course,” she replied, and they started walking through the doorway.
Denny grinned over his shoulder at me and said, “You can come, too.”
An attractive middle-aged blonde woman in a long black dress took Dennis’ name, checked her reservations book, smiled at us and asked if we’d follow her, which we did.
“Be pretty embarrassing if your name hadn’t been on her list,” I whispered to Dennis, as we walked through the main dining room and into a smaller, more private area with just three tables, each softly lighted by candles. Somewhere in the background, classical music was playing.
Denny chuckled and said, “I’d have just flashed my famous smile at her, got us the best table in the house.”
“You could have flashed your badge and we’d still end up in the cellar, which in this place is probably a dungeon.”
By this time, we were at our table, and Dennis held Laura’s chair for her while she sat down. As he and I took seats on either side of her, the hostess spread Laura’s napkin across her lap and then made way for our waiter, who asked if we’d care for anything to drink. Denny told him we would and asked to see the sommelier. The waiter smiled as though Dennis had told him we had decided to upgrade to a more expensive meal plan and then departed.
I reached over and fingered Dennis’ suit and said, “I thought we agreed to get dressed up tonight.”
Looking at my suit coat, he grinned and said, “Didn’t I throw that away last week?”
“Are you two always this entertaining,” Laura asked, “or am I getting a special performance?”
“Little of both,” I told her, “although usually I have to carry him even more than I am tonight.”
The sommelier, a short, slender dark-haired woman, arrived with a large wine book, and she and Dennis conferred for a few moments. I can manage not to embarrass myself when selecting a wine, but Dennis is much more knowledgeable than I am in that area, partially because he’s traveled a good bit, but mostly because he simply has more interest in vintages and bouquets and whatnot.
The sommelier left and our waiter returned to recite the evening’s specials for us. While he was doing that, a young woman came over and placed homemade rolls and pats of butter on small bread plates in front of each of us. Throughout the meal, anytime she spotted an empty plate, she would unobtrusively put another roll down. Nice touch.
While the three of us looked at our menus, I thought about how happy I was to be sitting there with two of the most important people in my life. I’ve long believed that certain times, be they two-week vacations or just an evening at a place like Hyeholde, are special not just because of what they are, but because you’re creating a memory, something that will be there for you to enjoy for the rest of your life. I had an idea that’s what was happening right now at our table.
A young man stopped to check on our water glasses, and then the waiter came back to take our orders. We’d all decided on the sherry bisque appetizer, which is legendary at Hyeholde. Laura chose the veal piccata as her entree, Denny asked for the mixed grill, and I decided to try one of the specials, fresh swordfish in a hazelnut crust, potatoes Anna, and a medley of fresh vegetables, grown right outside in the restaurant’s own garden.
The sommelier returned with the wine, presented the bottle to Dennis and then poured a small amount for him to taste. He drank it and nodded his approval, whereupon she filled all our glasses. I know it’s fashionable in some circles to make fun of the whole wine-tasting process at fancy restaurants, but I kinda like it, probably because it seems to be a civilized counterpoint to the rude behavior with which we are so often confronted on a daily basis in the real world.
During the meal, the three of us talked about Dennis’ most recent trip to Italy, my new car, Laura’s job, fashion trends and maybe half a dozen other things. The conversation flowed freely, with no awkward silences. Dennis and Laura seemed to take to each other immediately, discovering many similar interests. At one point, Laura asked Denny if he’d ever been involved in the Officer Friendly program, where cops in uniform visit kindergarten classes to talk with the kids.
“Not directly,” Dennis said, “but I did speak to Angie’s fourth graders once last year, and that was enough to convince me that I wasn’t cut out for teaching. I’ll stick to chasing the bad guys. On the other hand, this one, “and he nodded in my direction, “was an excellent teacher.”
“Please,” I said. “I blush easily.”
“Sometimes at the most inappropriate moments,” Laura blurted out.
There was a pause, and then
