Woman of Light (49)
A hostess in a striped gown sauntered to their table with menus as David and Luz followed her, but a large and wide bald man stood from his booth and blocked their path. He was someone important, Luz noted, because David stopped, shook his hand, and embraced the man like an old friend. As the man spoke, spittle flew from his mouth, some landing warm and wet on Luz’s cheek.
“You’ll sit here,” the man said, his head shining like polished granite. “We have plenty of room. Don’t we, doll?” He gestured with his whole left arm toward the table at a woman half his age with brilliant brown hair and a diamond brooch. She wore black eye makeup and was so thin that her chest was notched. Luz imagined that beneath her skin, the woman’s bones resembled an animal’s spinal column she had once seen bleached by sunlight on the prairie. The woman’s dress was a blazing silver color with delicate glass beads. Surely, wearing a gown like that, a girl could also afford to eat.
“Steelman, we couldn’t possibly intrude,” said David.
“Nonsense,” Steelman said. “Dining alone is for degenerates and old maids.”
How was he alone? Luz thought, she was right beside him.
“And tell your father we thank him for the latest contribution to the club. They bought a damn fountain with it!” Steelman motioned with his butter knife to a statue in the corner of the room, coughing water from its mouth into a marble basin. “Sometimes I think you Tikases are all right—for damn near commies, at least.” He chuckled, the boom reverberating.
“I’ll tell him,” David said with a shrug, and motioned with his right hand for Luz to slide into the booth. The tabletop surrounded them like a pink half shell, and across the white cloth Luz eyed the man’s plate. Ribs, a rack of lamb, corn, and beside it a glass of brandy. He continued speaking to David without so much as looking at Luz. When the waitress appeared, the man placed his enormous arms casually around her waist and ordered cocktails for the table. “I hope you like martinis, doll,” he said to Luz, finally glancing at her with a wink.
All women, she realized, were his dolls.
“How ’bout yous,” said the waitress. “Whadyas want to eat?”
“My god, girl. With English like that, I’m surprised you aren’t headed straight for DU.” Steelman laughed and hooked his arms tighter around the waitress’s hips.
The waitress let out a trained giggle, though she squirmed.
David smiled and looked up from the menu. He told the waitress he’d have the prime rib. He then ordered Luz the top sirloin.
“How’dya want it?” the waitress said.
“She’ll have it medium,” said David, pointing at Luz.
“What side?” said the waitress.
“Mashed potatoes,” David said. “With gravy.”
Luz didn’t want mashed potatoes at all, and said so. “Actually, I’ll have green beans. Thank you.”
Steelman laughed a short, disapproving laugh.
After listening to the conversation for some time, Luz understood that Steelman was an important attorney and the thin woman beside him wasn’t his wife and wasn’t his daughter. She didn’t engage in conversation with anyone at the table, only smoked cigarette after cigarette and gazed around the room as if searching for an exit. When the martinis came, the woman drank one quickly, then ordered another.
“So now you’re telling me unless we open a grand jury,” said Steelman between bites of sloppy ribs, “the damn niggers and spics won’t stop their looting and riots. At this rate, they’ll burn down half of downtown.”
David said, “To be fair, most of the protesters aren’t Negroes or Mexicans, Steelman. There are a fair number of demands coming from white men and women like yourself.”
“I wouldn’t liken myself to radical Jews and Communists!” said Steelman with a sonorous, rupturing laugh. Luz half expected him to froth at the mouth with stomach bile.
Steelman then pointed across the table at Luz. “Now, David, where’d this delicate doll come from?”
“She’s my secretary,” he said. “Recently hired.”
“This one’s quite pretty.”
Steelman studied Luz and she shifted in her seat, knocking into David on purpose. Steelman shoveled a cut of lamb onto his fork and then spoke through a mouthful of meat. “You know what they say about Mexican girls,” he said, raising his fork with emphasis. “Insatiable.”
At that moment, their food arrived. Luz watched as the white tablecloth disappeared beneath white plates, piled high with steak and prime rib. Then came more martinis, spilling over, clear gin knobbed with green olives stuffed with blue cheese. She was trapped by a feast of food and alcohol, this man directing the waiters like his own personal chorus. The room was chaotic, boisterous. Luz’s stomach turned, and she felt lightheaded. The thin woman tipped her head and swallowed nearly half her drink in one swig, then set down the glass and asked Steelman if he could find the waitress for another. She had the hiccups, and when she spoke to him, Steelman became enraged, told her to handle her liquor better. “You sound like a goddamn hillbilly,” he said.
As the two bickered, David scooted next to Luz. His leg was against hers under the table. He walked his fingers over her thigh, and moved his face along her hair. Luz could hear him sniff.