The Dish by Ken Hamm
DR. ‘JULIET’:You might be forgiven for wondering what happened to Beatrix Blackwell, the typic-rights activist who seemed to be on the front pages every day a few years back. What’s she been doing lately? Earning aPhD, of all things. We hear she’s the first graduate of her ladies’ college with a doctorate in medical research.
As you’ll recall unless you spent the early 2020s under a rock, she and her husband, Peter Blackwell, were dubbed the “Romeo and Juliet of Washington” because he was a wizard. (He isn’t in the past tense, but his wizardry is — and if you missedthat,you really have been out of circulation.)
So what’shedoing now? After some hush-hush stuff on weapons defense, he founded a laboratory a few years back with several big donations. His focus: medical research. Planning to hire the little lady, Romeo?
“You’re too late. We gave away your seats.”
Martinelli, in their usual booth in the back, slung his arm around Will Clark. Beatrix broke into a grin at their identically mischievous expressions and turned to see Anna Clark, on the other side of the table, whispering something to Mae.
“Yes, he’scompletelyimpossible,” Mae said. “As I remind him regularly.”
Martinelli said in an exaggerated stage whisper to Will, “I take it as a compliment.” Will giggled.
“Well, let’s go,” Anna said, rising and holding out a hand to her youngest brother. “You’ve got homework waiting, and so have I.”
“Oh …Uncle Tim, do Ihaveto?”
“Go on, Will-a-bill,” Martinelli said, tousling his hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I got an ‘A,’” Anna whispered to Beatrix, eyes bright.
“I knew you would!”
“It’s finally making sense. Thank you.”
Beatrix smiled at her, hardly able to believe that Anna was now an inch taller than she was and studying trigonometry. Or that Will, the baby she helped deliver, turned eight last week.
“Bye!” the kids chorused as they trundled off, hand in hand.
“Remind your parents—dinner tomorrow,” Beatrix called after them.
“Quick, sit,” Peter said, “before that reprobate gives our seats away to someone else.”
Martinelli waggled his eyebrows. “Don’t think I won’t.”
Peter slipped into the booth next to his friend, elbowing him. Beatrix slid beside Mae. “How’s the?—”
“Omnimancer! Omnimancer!”
All four of them turned to look at the source of the interruption, age six-and-a-half.
“Which one?” Martinelli asked the boy.
“Omnimancer Mae,” Eddy Gray clarified, looking at her with a trembling lip.
“No oneeverwants me,” Martinelli said,sotto voce.(This was patently untrue. Peter rolled his eyes and she stifled a laugh.)
“What is it, Eddy?” Mae asked sympathetically.
“I was supposed to be watching Andy but he got away from me and climbed all the way to the top of thereallybig tree up the street and his foot got stuck and he can’t get down and he’s crying but he didn’t want me tosayhe’s crying and?—”
“I’ll be right back,” Mae told them, and Beatrix hastened to let her out.
“Want a hand?” Martinelli asked.
She shook her head, smiling. As she strode out with Eddy, she called over her shoulder: “Next one’s all yours, dearheart.”
