“I haven’t noticed. I’ve been concentrating on you.”
“I hate it,” she said.
“Hard to blame them, don’t you think?”
“What do you mean?”
“If we were in Miami or New York City, nobody would look at us twice,” I said, “but in Providence, you and I are a sight.”
“I know why it happens,” she said. “But that doesn’t make me comfortable with it.”
I tore my eyes away from her and took a look around. A couple of tables away, an elderly gentleman, dressed for dinner in a tailored black suit, was eating alone. He glanced at us, saw that I’d caught him looking, smiled warmly, and turned back to his pasta. To his right, two young people on a date were stealing furtive looks at us and whispering to each other. A few yards to our left, three men in suits, probably here for a business meeting, couldn’t keep their eyes off Yolanda. Halfway across the room, a middle-aged couple dining with their three preteen children were staring with open hostility. Nobody else seemed to be paying us any attention.
“The old guy over there approves of us,” I said. “The young couple, the ones giggling now, are just curious. And the three businessmen to our right aren’t looking at us. They’re looking at you because you’re beautiful.”
“What about the couple with the three kids?”
“They think we’re an abomination.”
Yolanda turned in her seat and locked eyes with them. The woman averted her gaze, but her husband didn’t look away. I pushed my chair back from the table, strolled over to where they were sitting, and loomed over them.
“Got a problem?”
“What? No,” the husband said.
“Because if you do, I’ll be happy to drag you outside and teach you some manners.”
His face reddened, and his hands curled into fists. I’d embarrassed him in front of his family. Now he was trying to decide whether he had the stones to do something about it.
“Honey, don’t,” his wife said.
He started to get up anyway, then thought better of it and settled back into his seat.
“Wise move,” I said. I stood over them for another ten seconds. Then I turned my back and returned to our table.
“What did you say to him?” Yolanda asked.
“I asked him if he had a problem. He assured me he didn’t.”
“They’re not looking at us anymore.”
“I’ll bet.”
“If we keep seeing each other, this is going to keep happening.”
“It’s just two assholes in a restaurant full of people, Yolanda. Don’t let them get to you.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
“I’m having dinner with the most beautiful woman in New England,” I said. “I couldn’t care less about what a couple of morons think.”
“That’s because it only happens to you when you’re with me. You’ve never felt the whole attitude of a room change just because you walked into it. Store detectives follow me around when I shop. Cashiers call my bank to check on my credit card because they think I probably stole it. People look astonished when I open my mouth and actually speak the King’s English. They expect me to sound like Prissy from Gone with the Wind.”
I didn’t know what to say about any of that. I just reached across the table, took her hand, and caressed her palm with my thumb. She took another sip of her cappuccino. Then she looked at me over the rim of her cup, and something inside of me melted.
“You’re getting to me, Mulligan. I think about you all the time now.”
“And you’re stuck in my head like a wrong song.” I stroked her palm again. “So what are we waiting for?”
“You know.”
“Didn’t I tell you? I’m black Irish.”
“Not the same thing.”
“Then maybe you could just close your eyes.”
“Stop with the jokes.”
“I’m not joking. Close them, Yolanda. Do it right now.”
She looked at me curiously, then did as I asked.
I rose from the table, went to her, and kissed her mouth. Her eyes flew open, and she pulled away. Then she put her hands behind my neck, closed her eyes again, and tugged me back down. Our lips met, and this time they parted. I’m not sure how long the kiss lasted, but I didn’t stop until she pulled away again. Everyone was staring now, and this time we’d given them a reason. I think I was actually blushing as I sat back down across from her.
“Damn,” she whispered.
“Was that a good damn or a bad damn?”
“Good,” she said, her voice slurring a little.
“I could kiss you like that every day.”
She picked up her cup, stared out the window, and finished her cappuccino. Then she leaned forward and gave me that look again.
“Mulligan?”
“Um.”
“Finish your coffee and take me home.”
“Then what?”
“Then you can help me out of this dress.”
34
Johnny Arujo had been a newspaper security guard for a dozen years. Each morning, he’d always greeted me by name when I entered the lobby. But Monday morning, he rose from behind his desk to give me a high five.
“Hell of a story yesterday,” he said. “I didn’t think The Dispatch did that kind of thing anymore.”
“Neither did I.”
“Gonna be more where this one came from?”
“I’d like to think so,” I said, “but I doubt it.”
I rode the elevator to the third floor, punched the newsroom time clock, and saw Twisdale beckon me from his office door. He looked glum. I dropped into the chair across from his desk and said, “What’s the damage?”
“Herald Price Beauregard, one of the five corporate vice presidents for news, called me at home Sunday night. Sounded mad as hell.”
“I’m not sure I heard right. Did you say Harold?”
“It’s Herald. As in “Hark! the Herald Angels Sing.”
“There’s an actual person named Herald Price Beauregard?”
“There is. He’s flying in from corporate HQ in Tulsa tonight, and he’s bringing a company lawyer and a VP for advertising with him. They’re meeting with me and our advertising director in the boardroom upstairs at eight tomorrow morning. Beauregard ordered me to bring you along, so be on time for a change.”
“Swell.”
“And for God’s sake, behave. Let me do most of the talking. Don’t speak unless you’re asked a direct question. And please, none of your wisecracks. Oh, and wear a jacket and tie for a change, okay?”
Later that morning, my buddy Mason rang me up.
“Great story yesterday,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“I’m calling to thank you. You just made me a nice piece of change.”
“I did that how?”
“That super PAC, Americans for the Preservation of Free Enterprise? The one your story says is funded by New Jersey gambling interests?”
“Yeah?”
“They dropped their account with The Dispatch and started running a banner ad on The Ocean State Rag site this morning.”
“I figured they’d be dropping us,” I said, “but why’d they turn to your little website? I thought they’d just start spending more on local radio and television.”
“Because we’re growing like crazy,” Mason said. “As of the first of this month, I’ve got more eyeballs than the four local broadcast TV affiliates combined.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Good for you.”
“The super PAC will probably pull its ads from us, too, once they get a load of the coverage I’ve got in the works,” he said. “But for now, I’m delighted to take their money.”
Tuesday morning I got up early, showered, shaved, and put on a white dress shirt, my blue blazer, and my best black Reeboks-the pair without any holes or bloodstains. I punched the newsroom clock at a quarter to eight and stepped into Twisdale’s office.