The Wedding Dress(55)

“I’ll keep that in mind if a girl enters who’s so gorgeous she makes my heart forget my stomach.” He snatched back his menu, flopped it open, and started to read. If Emily Canton walked in . . . “I warn you, my stomach is very important to me.”

“How’s life at the Ridley, chum?” Alex said.

“Decent. There’s a grandmotherly lady who likes to bake me cookies. Leaves them at my door for when I come home from the institute.”

“There you go. You don’t need a wife now.” Alex motioned for the waiter. “A round of waters and some bread to start with—give us a minute to figure out the rest.”

“Starving, Al?” Ross put away his menu.

“You made Danny and me wait until almost midnight to eat, Ross. What do you figure? I could eat a horse.”

Ross smacked his palms together. “I’m going to polish off a large plate of spaghetti and meatballs, then I’m going to dance the Navajo Rag with the cutest girls in the joint until the sunlight glints off the top of Red Mountain.”

“I’m not dancing with no glue shoe.” Alex sat back, took his pipe from his jacket pocket, and propped it between his lips without lighting it. “I don’t care how pretty she is. She’s got to know how to dance.”

Daniel grinned. “That pipe makes you look like your father, Alex.”

“Good, I hate being twenty-three. You should hear the way the senior bank managers talk to me. Like I was a snot-nosed child. The other day one of them patted me on the head.”

Ross tipped back his chair as he laughed. “Bide your time. In a few years you’ll be patting the new tellers on the head.”

“I pray not.” Alex slipped his pipe back into his pocket. “It’s humiliating.”

“How’s it with you and Georgette, Alex? Are things getting serious?” Daniel closed his menu, deciding on the linguini dish. He moved aside for the waiter to set down the bread basket and the waters.

“I think so. But who knows? How can you tell who’s the one?” Alex took a slice from the basket and bit off an entire half. He gazed at the boys and tried to speak while chewing. “I told you I was hungry.”

Daniel took a piece of bread and set it on his plate. “If you find the answer, let me know.”

“Cheer up, chum, there’re other women besides Emily Canton.” Ross craned his neck to see the girl sitting at the neighboring table. “She’s a looker there.”

Daniel didn’t bother to inspect Ross’s choice—every gal in a gown was a looker to him. As he buttered his bread, he took a coy survey of the room.

The Italian Garden was a soft lit, romantic place, with an Italian band playing songs from the home country. But at midnight the joint went ragtime and jazz. There were quite a few lovelies around, but most seemed connected to a fella.

“Can’t believe you quit baseball to marry Emily and she dumped you for Saltonstall.” Alex shook his head. “Don’t envy you, son.”

“Worse, the society sections of the News and the Age-Herald report practically every blade of grass crushed under their feet.” Ross squinted down his nose, raising his chin. “Mr. Phillip Saltonstall and his fiancée, Miss Emily Canton, attended a dinner at the Strasburg home in Red Mountain in honor of their engagement. Miss Canton wore a lovely evening gown of—”

“Chum, have a heart. We get it . . . you can read.” Daniel stuffed his bread in his mouth, then punched Ross’s shoulder.

After Emily’s engagement he’d avoided the society section, even the business pages where some article usually focused on the Saltonstalls. Or Howard Canton.

“Have you met Saltonstall?” Alex said, intrigue in his voice.

“Not in person. Just read about him. Did you hear Saltonstall mines had the largest number of labor gang deaths than any of the other mines? Can’t find that in any of our fine newspapers. Why don’t you do some digging on that, chum.” Daniel motioned to Ross.

“If it’s not in the papers, then how do you know?”

“A friend of Dad’s is a guard at one of their mines,” Daniel said.

“When you got that kind of money”—Alex tore off another bite of bread, elbows on the table—“you can get away with whatever you want.”

“You got that.” Ross swiveled around when the music started, snapping his fingers to the ragtime beat.

“Enough to make a man think women do need the vote.” Daniel raised his voice above the music.

Ross snapped his head around, eyes wide. “Now you’re just talking nonsense, Ludlow.”

“I’m just saying maybe suffrage makes sense.” He reached for more bread, resisting the urge to consume the remaining slices. The years his mother spent drilling manners into him had permanently stuck.

“Call the doctor, Alex, Ludlow’s lovesickness has muddled his brain.” Ross tapped his temple.

“I’d love for a dame to come around and muddle my brain,” Alex said, shoving bread into his mouth, trying to catch the attention of the women sitting at the neighboring table.

“I’m neither muddled nor lovesick,” Daniel said. “I’m a thinking man.”

“Oh, come now, chum—” Ross scoffed.

Their banter worked its way around the table, back and forth, moving from suffrage to sports and the end of the Barons’ season. When the waiter arrived with their food, Ross sat back, patting his belly. “Delightful, Angelino. How about a round of vino?”