Spoonbenders

She put on one of the dresses she used to wear to work, back when she worked in a place that didn’t require polyester smocks. Smocks were the official uniform of those hanging on to the bottom rungs of the economic ladder; a parachute that would never open. Joshua said he worried about money, but he was in no danger of plummeting into poverty.

She emerged from the bedroom to find Teddy bouncing on his feet at the bottom of the stairs. “Is this okay?” she asked him.

“It’s kinda dowdy,” he said. “Perfect choice.”

He drove, cursing traffic the whole way. She’d never seen him this nervous. “So how did you meet this woman?” Irene asked. “You hanging out in some senior center you haven’t told me about?”

“I’ll tell you when we get there. It’s a great story, great story. Almost destiny.”

They didn’t walk into the restaurant until ten after six. Dad scanned the lobby and bar for the mystery woman, and was relieved that she hadn’t arrived yet. Irene apologized again for making him late, but he waved it off.

“Six-thirty reservation for Telemachus,” Teddy told the hostess.

“Six-thirty?” Irene said.

“I knew you’d be late,” Teddy said.

Their table was available now. Teddy hung his fedora on the brass hat rack, and Irene wasn’t a bit surprised that there were half a dozen hats already there. Palmer’s Steakhouse was Teddy’s favorite restaurant because the rib eyes were thick, the drinks strong, and the prices cheap. The average age in the dining room stayed north of sixty.

Dad positioned Irene to his left and reserved the chair on his right for his guest. The waitress was pouring water before they’d pushed in their chairs. Teddy had a thing for the waitresses, an all-Ukrainian squad with severe cheekbones, chain-smoker lips, and great legs. They moved the plates on and off the table like it was some kind of Olympic event. Nobody dawdled over the salad at Palmer’s. While you were taking your last sip of soup, the bowl would be gone before you put your spoon down.

“G and T?” the waitress asked him.

“You know me too well, Oksana. But I’m going to hold off ordering until my friend arrives.”

“Another friend, eh?”

“I’m his daughter,” Irene said.

The waitress shrugged and walked away. Teddy laughed.

“I don’t even know why I’m here,” Irene said. “What’s this woman’s name?”

“There she is now.” Teddy stood up and buttoned his coat. He met her halfway across the room and took her arm.

Irene had expected that Dad might go for a younger woman—someone in her sixties, perhaps. This woman looked to be holding tight to her early forties with the assistance of good makeup, Tae Bo classes, and money. That little black dress would have cost the entirety of Irene’s little blue paycheck. What the hell was going on here?

Dad escorted her to the table. “Graciella, this is my daughter, Irene.”

Graciella. That name seemed familiar. “A pleasure to meet you,” Irene said, and shook her hand. Then it was just a matter of waiting for the first lie. Three…two…

“I’d say that Teddy’s told me all about you,” Graciella said. “Except that he didn’t say a thing.”

Honesty, right out of the gate. Whaddya know.

Irene said, “Well, Dad didn’t even tell me your name till just now.”

“I’m not surprised,” Graciella said. “I think he likes to play the mysterious man in the hat.”

“I’ve made a mistake,” Dad said jokingly. “Dinner’s over. So glad you two met.”

The waitress materialized at the table. “Drinks now?”

“Oh yeah,” Irene said. “We’re going to need a lot of drinks.”

—

The meal proceeded with Palmerian efficiency, propelled by the fast hands of Oksana. The conversation weaved between the flying plates on a river of alcohol. Graciella was a drinker, and Irene was happy to keep pace while she tried to suss out who this woman was and what she was doing with her father. When she fibbed, it seemed to be mostly for politeness; the big lies, Irene suspected, were lies of omission. She mentioned kids, and said they were all fine (kids were never all fine), but the husband was absent from the conversation—despite the wedding ring on her hand and an engagement diamond the size of a meteorite.

Dad had turned courtly and solicitous—to Graciella anyway; Irene was left to order her own drinks. Dad laughed at everything the woman said, kept touching her arm, recommended favorite menu items like he was on staff. After they’d ordered dessert (“The lava cake’s stupendous,” Teddy announced), Graciella excused herself to the ladies’ room.

“So,” Teddy said. “Do you like her?”

“What the hell are you doing, Dad?”

“Try to calm down. I know it’s difficult for children when their widowed father falls in love, but I was hoping you could—”

“Back the hell up. You’re in love with her?”

“I am,” he said with formality.

“Are you sleeping with her?”

“That is none of your business.”

“Dad, she’s married.”

“Not wisely, and not well. Nick Pusateri doesn’t deserve her.”

“Who’s Nick—?” And then she remembered where she’d heard the name. “Shit. Is Graciella the mobster’s wife?”

“Don’t be judgmental. It’s not attractive.”