Caroline s MomChapter 8
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I felt out of place sitting in Alex’s father’s BMW. I had grown up with mom driving used Hondas and dad rebuilding a Ford truck long after he should have replaced it. I tried to look noncriminal as I pulled the seatbelt across my well-worn sports coat. I was wearing jeans, for Christ’s sake.
“Gene, this is my dad. Call him Peter,” she said over the click of her seatbelt.
Peter was a tall man; the gray in his hair was in the right spots over his ears and not peppered everywhere like my own. Hell, if I grew a beard like his, I’d have an off-center skunk on my face. He was wearing a suit, dark brown with a black shirt and tie. I did everything I could in my life never to wear a tie. His glasses looked like they cost more than my wardrobe.
“Yes,” he agreed without enthusiasm. I had the feeling he would’ve rather started at the power differential where he was calling me Gene and I was calling him Mr Alexa’s-Last-Name. I decided to withhold that lack of knowledge on my part. “Call me Peter.”
“You’re going to love this restaurant, Gene,” Alex bubbled. “They have this creamy chicken pasta thing that’ll ruin me for meal hall food until the end of the semester!”
“Thank you for inviting me.” I stayed positive.
“Yes, thank you for calling, Alex.” Her father frowned.
“Oh, I wasn’t going to wait on this!” she beamed. “Thanks for coming into town so quick, Daddy.”
“Anything for my princess.” Those four words were directed at me. I respected that. “Gene, why don’t you tell--”
“It is so good to not be served on a cafeteria line like an inmate!” Alex interrupted. It set her father’s teeth on edge. He was more than curious to discover who I was and how shallow a grave he’d need at the ready. I may have been overestimating his first impression of me. It wasn’t good. I was more than a little embarrassed to have had Alex over at my apartment at all, let alone having her father get a good look at the kind of life I had been providing myself. The good news was, this was a passing crush, a little misunderstanding. It’d be gone as swiftly as the half-hearted snow flurry that melted as soon as the snowflakes hit the asphalt.
“That’s terrible, Alex,” her dad nodded. “You’d think if you’d met the right guy, he’d at least pretend to be able to take you out.”
I tried not to melt down into the seat. I could’ve afforded to take her out. But I wasn’t the right guy.
“There’s all the time in the world for that,” Alex brushed off her dad. “That reminds me, dad, I need to introduce you to Sam. She’s Max’s roommate. With Gene now, it’s like I’ve found all the important people in my life!”
I grimaced. Her father caught that. His eyebrow millimetered up and his jaw set in thought.
“I’m sure I will, Max’s already bugging me for summer work at the firm as it is,” he agreed. “We’re here. Do you think we’ll get a word in edgewise once we sit down to eat, Gene?”
“I respectfully refrain from commenting negatively on your daughter’s ability to command a conversation,” I said with a smile. He parallel-parked before he looked at me.
“I can respect that.” He got out. I noticed Alex sliding across the back bench so she’d be by the door I was getting out of. She didn’t reach for the handle. I put on my best smile, stepped out onto the curb, and opened the lady’s door. She made a show of taking my hand before stepping out into the mild winter’s night.
Alex looked radiant. Her genuine glee lit up her smile that lit up the night. I’d never felt so attractive as under the gaze of those gleaming green eyes. I smiled back. She was wrapped up warm in her toque and parka but her legs were unprotected in no more than dark pantyhose.
“Let’s get her inside before she becomes a popsicle,” suggested Peter. I nodded. She wanted to take my arm but I led her with a push to the small of her back. It was one thing to enjoy the attention; it would be dishonest to promote it.
The Sapphire was way out of my price range. Everything was impenetrable black or crystalline blue. We stopped at the bar as a hostess discreetly walked over to us. I lit up.
“Hi,” I said. I didn’t know Alex’s last name and I didn’t know our hostess’s first. It wasn’t the kind of joint where a nametag on her breast would’ve made sense. “It’s good to see you.”
“Hi,” she beamed back. “We have your table waiting, Mr McArthur.”
Alex had gone into full attack-dog mode the moment I had responded to the hostess. I felt terrible. The hostess maintained her perfect customer service smile as we were led to a large private booth deep in the restaurant.
This girl, she was the one I had saved nights before I had met Alex, Max, and Sam. I still had her boots. There had been half a foot of snow when she had left; I didn’t understand how that act of forgetfulness could have occured.
“You know the waitress?” Peter asked me, as he took his daughter’s hand and led her into the semicircular bench. I, on the other side, was going to flank Alex in the back of the booth. I couldn’t imagine anyone else being comfortable in the middle.
“Yeah, just met her recently,” I admitted, without going into detail. Peter didn’t press. Alex appeared curious, but wasn’t certain if she’d rather just change the topic. Our waitress returned with our menus.
“We should get a bottle of wine,” Alex perked up. Her father looked at her. “I am old enough.”
“I’ll have to ask for ID,” our waitress said. Alex made a mad dash through her purse for her wallet and card. “Oh, a young one indeed. A week-old belated happy birthday!”
“Thank you.” Alex turned with a big smile to her father. “Daddy?”
“I’m driving. Perhaps Gene’s the one you should be buttering up?” He gave her a look. I tried not to blanch. I’d wager my ludicrous guess of the price of dinner was still lowballed. “To relax our young man, it’s going to be all on my bill.”
“It doesn’t seem to relax him that much,” our waitress grinned. I nodded.
“I must admit, I’ve never been a wine drinker.” I picked my words slowly. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Luckily, I know a wonderful sommelier.” Our waitress bowed proudly. “My name is Faye. Would you like something as an appetizer, or something to complement your coming meal?”
I looked to Alex, and realized she would be happy with whichever option I picked. I looked to Peter, and chose the more conservative “something to complement dinner.”
“Excellent,” she smiled. “I’ll give you a moment.”
“She’s pretty,” condemned Alex once Faye had walked away. I decided the truth was important.
“Yes, she is.” Alex briefly looked scandalized. Peter was looking at me with something not unlike respect. “You recommended the chicken pasta, Alex?”
“Oh yes!” She spun the menu around and opened it to the third page. A simple 55 was down in the corner. I tried not to react.
“If you’re more of a meat and potatoes kind of guy,” Peter suggested with sympathy more than arrogance, “you’ll find the steak here excellent.”
“Thank you,” I nodded. “I am in fact more of a meat and potatoes guy. I think I’ll try expanding my palate.”
“Dad just orders the same three dishes everywhere we go.” Alex told me conspiratorially. “If they don’t have steak, it’s fish and chips, and if not it’s sweet and sour chicken balls with chicken fried rice.”
“Yes, knowing what you want is an important step in getting what you want.” He nodded. As soon as we had seemed to know what we wanted, Faye had returned.
“Oh, excellent, I have just the perfect white to pair with that,” she said brightly. Peter did order his steak. Faye headed off, and Alex’s hand ran over my thigh. I picked off her fingers and she looked up at me with adoring eyes.
“I’m going to freshen up before supper,” she told me. It took me a moment before I realized I had to move. She looked at her father as she rose. Her beautiful red dress clung to her figure and showed off everything. I kept my eyes above her neckline. “Don’t scare him too bad, Dad.”
I dismissed her worries. “It’s his job to make sure you’re getting the best.” She set off to the washroom. I sat back down. Peter put down his glass of $18 ice water. I sat up straight. He had been waiting for this moment.
“Gene, what is it you do?” he asked first. Good, I approved of starting at the clear answers.
“I’m a draftsman. I work for a small engineering consulting firm,” I answered. “I own a large engineering consulting firm,” he countered. “Why drafting?”
“I started in pre-med at Acadia, actually.” I looked back. “Out of sheer arrogance. I graduated high school with straight A’s and no work ethic. It was all peacocking. By the end of third year, I had bounced around from pre-med, to engineering, to physics, to computer science. I wasn’t motivated in any of those disciplines, and flunked out.”
“No, I can’t imagine an unmotivated doctor getting through residency or an unmotivated engineer getting his pEng,” he replied. “Still, you flunked out.”
“Yes, I did,” I nodded. “I was forced to take a semester off before I could sign up for any courses. I worked at Wendy’s. It didn’t take those four months to know I needed to do something. I took another semester away from classes, picking through programs and looking at trade school without the blustered arrogant eyes of some high school kid who knows everything and has no life experience.
“I took drafting during my time in engineering. I liked the structure, the action, and the creativity. I figured once I had the base, maybe I’d find the degree or career path I could build off of. That part of my plan never worked out. I’ve been doing this for almost ten years now.”
Libbie
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