Temple was proud of him for venturing beyond the usual New York strip steak.
“That’s what seltzers are made for,” he answered. The red-gold beer in the iced glass must be mellowing him. “When is your fiancé joining us?” he asked Kit.
She lifted her small evening bag from the tabletop. “As soon as I call him on my cell phone. I wanted us to have some time to relax and chat first.”
“Kit,” Karen said, “we won’t bite. I’m just so tickled you finally found the right man.”
Kit tried not to squirm. Temple knew that her getting married had just happened. It wasn’t a lifelong search. Aldo was there, feeling a bit burned out after the loss of his longtime girlfriend, and along came Kit, full of postmenopausal zest and a tad of hormone replacements.
“Oh, now isn’t this something?” Roger asked as the waiter lofted the appetizer tray Temple had ordered for them to share. One of the four delicacies was fried in batter, which she knew her dad would go for.
He grinned at the women and, after a glance at the many plates and pieces of silverware, moved half the batter-fried items to his plate.
Kit flashed Temple a happy smile. Papa had his beer and batter and would be cool from now on in. Mama, on the other hand . . .
“That looks fatty,” Karen said.
“They only use olive oil here,” Temple said. “That’s the kind that’s good for your heart.”
“Oh? I thought that cheap food was oilier in general.”
Temple was glad they’d never see the bill. Her mother was thinking of the days of cheap three-dollar buffets laden with sugary, greasy comfort food, back in the unenlightened eighties. Las Vegas was a class, and costly, act these days. Sure, there were always economical fast-food places in every Strip hotel, but even those menus were healthier and more palatable.
Temple sipped her sweetly tart martini, feeling a little mellow herself.
“So,” said Karen to Kit, sipping her daiquiri, a vintage cocktail with a funny little hazelnut bobbling in it, “how did you meet this Aldo?”
“Through Temple,” Kit said brightly. “She introduced us.”
“Oh, that’s nice, dear. Meeting through family is always best.”
“Yeah,” said Kit, thinking, no doubt, of the whole, big, slightly mobbish Fontana family, from Uncle Macho Mario on down to Nicky.
Speaking of which, at that moment Temple was surprised to see Nicky and Van stroll over, a very handsome couple blending dark and light looks.
“Everything all right here, folks?” Nicky asked, his bright white teeth flashing against his smooth olive skin.
Van, always the elegant Hitchcock blonde, merely smiled.
After introductions, Roger took the beef tournedos by the horns. “So it’s your brother that’s stolen our Kit away.”
“My eldest brother,” Nicky said, grinning.
“You must be just a baby,” Karen suggested.
“The youngest, yes.”
“Your mother must be quite an interesting woman.”
Temple could see her mother calculating thirty years of childbearing. If she only knew how many brothers there were, she’d be really impressed. Unlike Mama Fontana, Karen had ended her streak of four sons with a lone girl. That family position left Temple cosseted and fussed over and bullied and controlled way too much.
It was nice to be from Las Vegas now, on her own, making her solo choices. One of which . . .
“Is Matt coming along for dinner too?” Nicky asked, turning to Temple as if giving her a cue.
He didn’t mean it that way, but it gave Temple the perfect opening. She looked at her parents in explanation. “I have a significant other coming to dinner too. Matt Devine is a local celebrity. He hosts a syndicated radio advice show.”
There!
Karen dropped her fork, which had been attacking the remaining battered items that she’d appropriated to her appetizer plate. She might inveigh against fatty foods, but a Minnesota blizzard-ridden winter made them a number-one crave. “Matt, not Max?”
“Max has left Las Vegas.”
Karen just stared.
“They drifted apart,” Kit said, “and Matt drifted into view. Quite a nice view he is too. Shall I call the boys now?” She pulled her cell phone from her purse as Nicky and Van eased away.
“Boys?” Karen said weakly, still numbed by the fact that Temple as well as Kit was producing a new beau.
Kit dialed. “Hi, handsome. Yeah, you can steer your Italian tailoring up to the restaurant. The waiter knows you’ll be ordering a bit late.”
Karen’s jaw was again agape. She glanced to Temple, then at the two empty place settings. Two, not one. Her jaw moved as if she was going to speak. But her first question would have been about Max, and even Karen Barr knew that would be a fatal move.
She sipped her daiquiri. “This is very good. I haven’t had one in years.”
“Then have another,” Kit urged. “You don’t often meet a new prospective s on-in-law and brother-in-law on the same day.”
“Temple?” Karen gazed accusingly at Temple’s ringless left hand, and then Kit’s.
“We’re letting the gentlemen install our engagement rings again tonight,” Kit said, “for your viewing pleasure. We’re very sorry about surprising you with two engagements, but we thought it would be better to do in person instead of over the phone.”
“But we haven’t met this Matt person,” Karen said.
“That’ll be taken care of tonight,” Kit answered. “Don’t worry. He’s a matinee idol dreamboat. Smart and rich too. What mother wouldn’t be over the moon about it?”
“Has he been married before?” Karen asked. “After a certain age, it’s hard to find . . . uh . . . ”
“Non-preowned models?” Temple asked. “Nope. Never married.”
“And he’s how old?”
“Thirty-four.”
“Never-married men that age can be . . . difficult.”
“Nope,” Temple answered. “See for yourself.”
“He makes all this money from just talking on the radio?” her dad asked.
“Think Garrison Keillor,” Temple said, “but cute.”
She wanted to avoid the ex-priest part until her parents had gotten used to the idea of an Unknown Quantity in Temple’s life. Max had not been welcomed, but at least they’d met him.
Kit had been playing lookout while Temple fended off her parents’ questions and now she grabbed Temple’s hand. “Here they come, our Greek gods.”
The attractive hostess strutted across the floor with the guys in tow, the tall and dark Aldo in his usual yummy pastel silken Italian suit, shirt, and tie; Matt wearing less formal clothes, but relaxed and pale for the climate, enhancing his blond good looks.
Barr Pere and Mére were satisfyingly speechless as Temple and Kit stood for the greeting pecks on the cheek . . . as the men were introduced and took their seats . . . as the waiter breezed by to take the newcomers’ drink orders. Then they spoke.
“I’ll have another daiquiri,” said Karen.
“Very good.”
“And I’ll—” Roger gazed at his empty beer glass. “I’ll have a scotch on the rocks.”
Kit and Temple crossed glances. Yes!
After the drinks had been delivered and the new entree orders had been taken, the sixsome was alone at the table and the conversational ice was as solid as on Lake Minnehaha in mid-January.
“I guess we should toast the happy couples,” Roger said finally, looking eagerly at his lowball glass gleaming gold with Johnnie Walker.
“First,” Aldo said with a smile, “we must repeat the ring ceremony for our honored guests.” He flourished a velvet box from his side jacket pocket. Matt’s was produced from his inside jacket pocket, on the heart side, a detail Temple didn’t miss.
The small boxes opened, dispensing major glitz. Rings slipped onto fingers they had previously fit like a dream.
Roger raised his glass and everyone followed suit, Karen last. “To our loved ones, and their loved ones.”