“Are you sure, sir?” he asked. His nameplate said Albert.
He was about to ask again when someone (maybe a waitress?) came up behind him and whispered in his ear. Albert looked at me as though I was a forgotten survivor from the Titanic, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said now, his tone much more friendly. “Would you follow me?”
I followed him. We went around the edge of the room, to the far end, where he opened a wooden door, and stood to one side.
Before I could take in the elegant little room with its wood-paneled walls and the huge glass-backed shelves of wine and high-end alcohol, I got rushed. And by that I mean, people cameupto me andhuggedme and shouted my name and said thank you for saving Alex, dear Alex. No lie.
Back home, I would have balled my fists and fought my way out of such a crowd. But I saw Alex standing back with a smile and realized who they were. Mom, Dad, and Sis and, of course, little Baby Ginny, held in Sis’s arms. And another guy. I don’t know who he was, but he was standing at Sis’s side like he belonged there.
“Pete, can you take the baby,” said the young woman who was Sis.
Pete took the baby, cuddling her close. I realized that he kind of looked like the baby. Or the baby looked like him. I never did pay attention in biology, but I guessed he was Baby Ginny’s dad.
Then Sis hugged me so hard, all the breath left my body. Then she kissed me on the cheek. Then the Mom did, too. Jasmine. Her name was Jasmine, and she looked like a runway model with her hair in a glossy dark bun. Fierce. Smart. Sharp.
“You did good,” said Dad. He had a little round belly and a genial smile. “I’m Nathanial. Call me Nate.”
“Call me Beck,” I said, faint, feeling out of sorts, like I was up against the hardest gang on the meanest street in Denver. (No, not Colfax.)
“I’m Lottie,” said the beautiful young woman who’d handed the baby over.
Then a young man came in. Maybe he was nineteen, the spitting image of Alex, only more slender. He was dressed like he’d just stepped out of a Yale portrait, pressed slacks, a sweater vest. His name was Timothy-Call-Me-Tim. Everybody, it seemed, had a shortened version of their name, except for Jasmine.
Finally,finally, Alex came over and slapped me on the back, but gently, his smile warm and familiar. Receiving it made me wish we were alone together in that old cabin on a mountain hillside, unable to go anywhere because we were knee deep in snow with nothing to do but make love on that fabulous bed all the live long day.
“Let’s sit down, everybody,” said Nate. “We don’t want to keep the staff waiting.”
Staff meant a bunch of waitresses, a wine sommelier, someone to carve the roast beast, and other staff to clear away after each course. I counted five, and each one was huge, everything fancy, not much I recognized.
All during this meal, the chatter was friendly and light. Nobody got drunk and tried to punch anyone. When someone said pass the mashed potatoes, they of course said please, and nobody, but nobody, threw any food. All of this was followed up by the most amazing slice of apple pie (with cheddar cheese on top of each slice, of all things), and then sweet wine and cheese.
I was shocked by several things.
One, that everybody was nice to me, and nobody laughed when I got gravy on my chin. The waitress replaced my napkinat least two times, and still nobody made any mean remarks. I might have been raised by wolves (which I was, really), but I got treated like a little prince, which was quite a nice feeling. Weird, but nice.
Second, was that when I told them about what I did, which was work on cars for a rich guy on a ranch, they acted all interested, rather than bored.
Third, was that I learned whattheydid for a living.
It went a little like this:
“Hey, Alex, did you get the contracts signed in Tokyo?” asked Nate.
“Dear, I thought we agreed not to talk about business,” said Jasmine with a disapproving frown.
“Yes, dear,” said Nate as he chewed politely on his mouthful of food. “I just need to know, so I am ready for the board meeting in a few days.”
“He can give you the write up about itlater,” said Jasmine.
“Sure did, Dad,” said Alex. “The sign on the hotel will say what they all do, but they want the web brochure and any marketing materials to also say it in Japanese.”
“How doe that go?” asked Tim.
“It sounds likeZa ankarejji,” said Alex. “Looks like I’m going to have to learn Japanese.” But he smiled as he said this, like it wasn’t a hardship and actually was something he looked forward to doing.
“What does it stand for?” I asked. When I was in school, I could have cared less. (Or I couldn’t have cared less, I can never be sure.) But after having known Royce, who might or might not have been a good influence on me, I had started to become more curious.
