“Same thing.”
“Either way, I don’t like it.”
“Harry, you have to look nice if you’re going to come, and you do want to come, don’t you? You and me, at my father’s house, and all those people? A lot of them very prominent.”
“You mean rich.”
“Okay. Rich. So what? Is it okay if we’re rich? Is that a crime? You’re starting to hurt my feelings, Harry.”
“I don’t mean to.”
“We want to look our best. Want to dress up and look fine, and I can show you off, introduce you to my mother, and later, well, we’ll go our own way, and we have our place, don’t we?”
“We do. Though we shared it with four other cars last time.”
“True, but they weren’t in our car, were they?”
“No…I don’t know about this suit business, Talia. It doesn’t seem right, you buying me a suit.”
“I want to do it. Everyone at these parties knows a good suit from a bad one, and they’ll spot a cheap one right off. And you’ll need shoes, some good socks, and I’ll pick a tie.”
“I feel like a mannequin.”
“Don’t be silly.”
At seven in the evening the phone rang, and Harry, dressed in his new suit, socks, tie, and shoes, waiting patiently on his couch, hands in his lap, rose and picked up the receiver.
“Hey, baby,” Talia said.
“Hey.”
“We’re coming around the corner. Come down to the curb.”
“Okay. We?”
But she had hung up.
Harry went downstairs and out to the curb. He was no sooner situated then a limousine, black as a crow’s wing, came around the corner and glided to a stop.
The driver got out, went around, opened the back door to let Harry in.
“I could have done that,” Harry said to the driver.
“Yes, sir,” said the driver, “but, unlike me, you wouldn’t have gotten paid for it.”
Harry climbed in. Talia, in a short black dress, her hair pulled back and up, her dark-stockinged legs crossed, her cell phone beside her on the seat, looked at him and smiled.
Harry’s discomfort began to melt away.
“You look fantastic in that suit,” she said.
“For what it costs, I should not only look fantastic, I should
“Thank you, sweetie.”
The car drifted away.
Talia’s parents’ house was off a little road that wound in amongst old oaks and new pines. They pulled up at a gate with a metal box on a pole beside it. The driver pushed a series of buttons on the pole, and the gate opened. They cruised up a hill between oaks, willows, and walnut trees, a sweet gum here and there. As they climbed, Harry could see lights shining brightly through patches of greenery, warm explosions of yellow and orange.
The car window on the driver’s side was still down from the driver having worked the buttons on the pole, and Harry could smell perfume on the air, and hear music, a big-band sound, and it all came down the hill in a waft of smell and sound that filled the car thick as taffy. Harry had gotten to where noise, even noise in which the past did not lurk, annoyed him, but this wasn’t so bad. It was the sound of another time, and there wasn’t any anger or violence in it, not like most of the stuff today.
The greenery divided as the car wound along the concrete path, and now he could see the house up there on a hill, lit up like the pearly gates, so brightly lit that at first glance it appeared to be on fire. The house stood strong and heavy of stone against the night, and outside of it, along the pool, on a large, flat area of tile, well lit up from decorative lights on poles, people danced, and the music was suddenly divided by a voice, the sound of a male singer crooning into an old-style microphone. His voice was rich and strong, and the dark and the lights and all the people were as one, the way Tad had told him the world could be if you looked at it right.
There were cars parked all over, pointing this way and that, like discarded cartridges from big guns, but the limousine slid past them, around to the back of the house, where there was a carport supported by stone pillars. They parked, and with the driver holding the door for them, Harry climbed out first, extended his hand to Talia.
“I thought it would be larger,” Harry said.
Talia grinned at him.
They went in the back way, and as they entered the house there was a burst of light and the bright white paint of the walls jumped out at him. The house on one side was free to the outside by open windows and open glass doors, and the music came inside, loud and friendly, filling the giant cathedral room. People laughed and danced. There was a long table full of food of all persuasions: sushi and barbecue and darkly cooked birds, bowls of this and bowls of that, and all manner of wine and beer and soda and bottled water, and there were Latino men and black women in little white outfits, walking this way and that with silver trays, smiling, as if nothing in the world pleased them more than to cater to the happy, indulgent, honky rich.
“Daddy,” Talia said, and sure enough it was Daddy coming their way. And tonight he seemed happier, and the drink in his hand was probably the source of it, thought Harry. The suit he wore was just like the one Harry wore, so were the shoes. The only difference was the tie. And maybe the socks. Harry decided not to ask him to extend his leg so he could check.
Mr. McGuire said, “Ah, this must be your date. Barry—”
“Harry,” Talia said.
“How are you, Harry? Name’s John.” And he extended his hand.
Harry shook it. He realized that Mr. McGuire didn’t remember that they had met before.
“I’m fine, sir. Thanks for having me here.”
“Quite all right. Bird’s good. So is everything, but the turkey, it’s to die for. Black people are such good cooks, and I’ve got three or four of them to do the kitchen business. Got to circulate. Host and all. You know how it is. Nice to meet you. Nice suit.”
“Thanks.”
John went away, and so did Talia. Harry found himself standing in the middle of the room, not knowing where to put his hands. Men and women danced around him in their fine clothes, like drunken moths a-spin beneath a bright night-light.
Harry went over to the food counter, which was as long as the room, looked to see what was there.
A black woman in a maid outfit appeared at his elbow. “May I help you, sir?”
“Just looking.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you suggest?”
“It’s all good.”
“You know the cook?”
“I am the cook. Me and three others.”
“That’s quite a staff.”
“We cook and wait, us three. You add the whole staff together, all the people work here, there’s about twenty. That way, the folks live here don’t have to do a lick of work…. I didn’t mean that—”
“Oh, that’s all right. Don’t worry about it. I’ll have some chicken, a diet cola.”
The maid fixed Harry a plate, gave him napkins and silverware. Harry glanced around for Talia, didn’t see her. He went outside and watched people dance out there. He found a metal table and a metal chair, sat down, and ate his chicken. When he was finished he wiped his fingers on the napkin and went back inside.
No sooner was he in the door than a woman in a bloodred dress grabbed his elbow. “You all alone?” she said.
She was a very nice-looking woman, maybe forty, with too-red hair and a fine build and a good face full of
