Have You Seen Luis Velez?(28)

“Yeah. It’s not far from where my dad lives.”

“You don’t have to pick up the check, you know,” she said. “I can help.”

“No. I told you. It’s on me. I told you I came into some money.”

“Well, I promise I won’t order the very most expensive thing.”

“It’s a flat price for brunch. But then there are all these different things you can choose from. I already know how much it will cost. I can cover it.”

“Well, it’s very sweet. I thank you for it.”

They rode in silence for a time. Mrs. G was looking up and around, as if reading the ads. But of course she could not have been. Raymond wasn’t sure what she was doing. Maybe listening. Maybe watching the changes in the light.

“What does he do, your father, to be able to afford to live in Midtown Manhattan?”

“He’s a dentist.”

“That explains it,” she said. “Yes indeed.”



Raymond helped her ease into her seat at the restaurant table, while the waiter carefully pushed the chair in behind her. Then the waiter handed them each a menu and hurried away.

Mrs. G set her menu down beside her plate and clapped her hands several times in sheer delight. Quickly. As if she simply could not contain her excited energy. She wore a beaming smile.

“Oh, this is so wonderful!” she said, loudly enough that a couple at the next table looked over and smiled. “It must seem very silly to you. Maybe even pathetic. To be so jubilant about a meal in a restaurant.”

“I figured you would enjoy it,” he said. “That’s why I brought you.”

It was half true. That was half the reason he’d brought her. That and the fact that he wanted to feel better about abandoning the Luis Project. He wanted to make it up to her, even though she had no idea he’d ever started looking. Because after his experiences earlier that day, he did not want to knock on even one more door.

He watched her smooth her hands over the starched white tablecloth as if admiring the fabric by feel. There was a tiny bud vase of fresh flowers in the middle of the table, some kind of small purple blooms, and Raymond wished she could see them. Maybe she could smell them, he thought.

“I’ll read you the brunch choices,” he said.

“I want an omelet. I already know I want an omelet. Just tell me what kinds they have.”

“You sort of custom-order it. They have a list of omelet fillings, and you can choose three. And you can choose what you want on top. I’ll read you the choices.”

“I know what I like the best,” she said, her voice still buzzing with excitement. “So let me tell you what I want, and you tell me if it’s on the list.”

“Okay.”

“Spinach? Cheese? Tomatoes?”

“Yes, all of that. They have those. What kind of cheese do you want?”

“I don’t mind which, because I like every kind of cheese there is. Is sour cream one of the things I can get on top?”

“It is.”

“Good. I’ll have that.”

“And you can have either bacon or fried potatoes.”

“Fried potatoes.”

“What kind of toast do you like?”

“Oh my goodness!” she said, as if she had eaten too much already. “This is so much food! I can’t eat so much food!”

“It doesn’t matter. Just eat however much you want, and then they’ll put the rest in a box, and you can take it home for later.”

“Yes,” a new voice said, “we have doggie bags. And you can also have champagne. It’s included with your brunch.” It was the waiter, who had stepped up to their table again.

“Champagne!” Mrs. G exclaimed. As though he had offered to set a diamond tiara on her head.

“I’m sorry,” the waiter said, looking directly at Raymond, “but you can’t have any. I’m guessing I don’t need to tell you why not. But the lady may have champagne. And just because I’m in a good mood today, I won’t even ask to see your identification, miss. I’ll trust that you’re old enough to drink.”

“Oh my. Champagne! I don’t know. Poor Raymond. He can’t carry me home. I have to be able to move my own feet. Champagne will go straight to my head!”

“It’s up to you,” the waiter said.

“It’ll be on a full stomach,” Raymond added.

“I’ll tell you what. Maybe bring me half a glass.”

“Coming up,” the waiter said. “Coffee or tea?”

“Tea,” Mrs. G said.

“Tea,” Raymond said.

The waiter disappeared again.

“So, tell me, Raymond,” she said. “How are you suddenly so rich?”

“I’m not. I’m not rich at all. This is going to be almost the last of that unexpected money I got. But I just knew this was what I wanted to spend it on.”



He watched her take the measure of her omelet with her fork and knife, touching the boundaries of it to see how long it was. How tall it stood.

“It is a good thing about the box to take it home,” she said. “Because I couldn’t eat this much food if you gave me all day to try.”

“Eat slowly,” he said. “We’re not in any hurry.”