Read Online Change of Heart by Sally Mandel - Free Book Online Page B

inevitably something the matter with any restaurant, and Sharlie had often sat in humiliation while Walter refused the wine. In fact, the wine ritual had always signaled trouble. Sharlie was fully aware of her father’s expertise in selecting the proper vintage. Hadn’t he stormed at Margaret for allowing a new caterer to serve 1972 Lafite at their dinner party for the sheikh and his entourage? Out with his family, however, Walter felt free to expound on the idiocy of spending eighteen dollars on “frog vino” when you could get Blue Nun for six bucks.
    Even with the cheap stuff he enjoyed making a ceremony of the first sip, serene under the contemptuous eye of the wine steward. Once last fall he had stormed out of an elegant Park Avenue establishment when the manager protested that refusing Gallo Chablis was like refusing Seven-Up. Sharlie remembered the stares as she and her mother gathered up their handbags and crept out behind him. She prayed that tonight Brian would disappear into the men’s room when the wine list arrived.
    Margaret had offered to serve dinner at home tonight, but finally Sharlie opted for the restaurant, figuring they were better off luring Walter out for the first meeting. In his castle the man was formidable, but in the neutral territory of a strange restaurant, perhaps Brian would stand a chance.
    They sat over their drinks, waiting, while Walter sighed heavily and Sharlie fidgeted. Margaret glanced sympathetically at her daughter, giving her little nervous smiles of encouragement.
    â€œWill you look at the grease spots on those glasses?” Walter said, and Sharlie heard a faint click as the civil servant cassette slid into the tape slot at the back of her father’s head. There were unlimited topics in this category, aimed, among other things, toward the sanitizing of restaurant dining rooms, the erasure of graffiti on public edifices, the reformation of derelicts. Walter responded to each challenge with fervor, complaining noisily that no one else had a community conscience anymore.
    He made a great display of looking at his watch, and Sharlie squirmed. Where was Brian anyway?
    Finally he appeared in the doorway, all ruddy-faced from the cold March night, bringing a roomful of fresh air with him just as he had that first evening at Saint Joe’s.
    He approached the table, smiling and relaxed. Sharlie thought, my God, he’s not even hurrying. Walter stood up, extending his hand, and smiled a broad grin that was all teeth.
    â€œI don’t suppose you make your courtroom appearances with such casual disregard for time.”
    â€œNo, sir,” Brian replied. “Not if I can help it.”
    Turning to Margaret to shake her hand, he apologized briefly for the delay, offering no explanation. Then he leaned over and kissed Sharlie squarely, right on the mouth. Holy bananas, thought Sharlie. Daddy is going to take you apart limb from limb.
    But Brian and Walter sat down, and Walter’s stiff grin sat on his face, frozen there by shock. Sharlie gazed at her father, trying to pretend that his presence held no special significance—just some beefy stranger whose solid, emotionless expression reminded her of specimens on display at the Museum of Natural History. Stuffed mogul : Observe the beady, humorless eyes; the square face; and the small, ungenerous ears.
    But the iced grin began to fade, and both Sharlie and Margaret noted with alarm the menacing shift of Walter’s shoulders and a slight bulging of the muscles in his neck. Sharlie looked at Brian, her eyes fastening on him for comfort. How could he sit there so nonchalantly with his menu as if there were nothing else to think about but his empty stomach? Even Brian’s monumental appetite must wither in the presence of such a man as Walter Converse.
    When she was a little girl out to eat with her parents, Sharlie had gradually established a pattern of defensive techniques to sustain her through