A moment later, he swung open the classroom door, bringing a dozen separate conversations to silence. Let’s get this over with, he thought, trying to ignore the blinding pain that pulsated in the back of his mouth.
~~~
Episode 3: Serving Time (set in the world of Ashes)
Jason phoned Miranda. The call went straight to voicemail. “Hi babe, it’s Dad. Sorry I had to cut the call short earlier today. It was a busy day at the office. When you get a chance, call me back. I’m curious about what you have in mind for the weekend.” He ended the call and smiled, God, do I love that kid, he thought.
Still in hand, his cell phone rang. “Hello?”
“Hi sexy,” Josie said.
“I’m sorry,” he joked, “but you must have the wrong number.”
“Just make sure you pick me up at four o’clock. I don’t want to be late.”
“Late for what?” he asked, smiling.
“I told you, it’s a surprise.”
“Oh, that’s right,” he said, his smile widening. Weeks before, Josie had made dinner reservations at Los Andes Restaurant in Providence. Although she’d claimed it was a surprise, she never once tried to conceal her plans. In fact, she’d hinted about the big night for weeks. For as long as he could remember, Jason had heard about Los Andes, everyone going on and on about how good the food was and how the service was even better. But it wasn’t easy to travel through Federal Hill—with one amazing pasta joint better than the next; Camille’s, Pan E Vino, Cassarino’s, the Old Canteen—and not stop for some incredible dinner.
“Four o’clock, okay?” Josie said.
“I’ll be there,” Jason confirmed. “What should I wear?”
“Business casual.”
“So no prison uniform?”
“Khakis and a button down shirt will be perfect,” she said.
“Fine,” he said, “but I’m not tucking the shirt in.”
“You won’t be in it for long anyway,” she purred. “See you in a bit.” She hung up.
Jason looked at his cell phone and smiled—thinking about his playful dinner date. Josie was more than ten years his junior but acted even younger than that. She was an attractive brunette, with matching dimples that worked like lethal lures when she smiled. She was on the short side, with the body of a mature gymnast—both in curves and flexibility. Whatever their conversations lacked in depth, their physical relationship made up for it—and then some, he thought. And although Josie was considered no more than the latest in a long line of failed relationships, Jason liked her. Even when her African gray parrot spouted the most foul sentiments like “Bite me” and “Eat my ass”—echoing the dirty words of the filthy woman who’d taught it—Jason enjoyed being in her company. She’s a crazy broad, he thought, but I dig crazy.
After leaving the rain-soaked highway, the GPS’s non-whimsical voice called for so many rights and lefts that Jason knew they’d been sent in a back way. Up one street and down the next, they traveled through a tough-looking neighborhood, filled with three tenement houses with tiny yards behind chained link fences; corner stores and ethnic eateries protected by bars on their front windows—an all too familiar sight for Jason.
Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at Los Andes.
“Surprise!” Josie called out, smiling.
“This is it?” he asked, returning her grin.
She nodded. “I know you don’t like to try anything new, babe, but I want you to keep an open mind, okay?” She glanced back at the building. “Everyone says we’re going to love it.”
The restaurant was located on the bottom floor of a tenement house, with a brick façade and blue awning, giving it the appearance of a storefront. Exterior signs boasted of Fine Peruvian and Bolivian Dining; South American delicacies. The silhouette of some foreign animal was prominently displayed on the awning. A yak or llama? Jason considered before finally deciding, It’s a llama. “Okay,” he agreed, adding a wink.
Two young valet attendants waited in the rain. Jason considered their services before shaking his head. No way, he thought. “Get out here,” he told Josie. “I’ll find on-street parking.”
“You’re such a cheap...” she said.
“You’re welcome,” he interrupted, reaching over her lap to open the door for her.
She sighed heavily.
“I have no problem tipping these kids,” he explained. “I just don’t want them scratching my...”
But Josie had already slammed the door shut and was heading for the restaurant, past a group of patrons huddled outside—standing flush against the building, while the blue awning protected them from the pelting rain.
This place must be good, Jason figured before finding a safe parking spot two streets away.
After an awkward and tiresome sprint in the rain, Jason took one step inside the place to discover that its outward appearance was only camouflage, concealing a real gem within. A huge, blue coral salt water tank sat above the bar, separating them from the main dining room. The tank was teeming with several dozen fish. After a narrow walk down the length of the bar, bouncing off of the packed crowd as he went, Jason met Josie at the hostess station.
“How long’s the wait?” he asked, wiping his wet hands on his khakis.
“Another half hour,” she said.
“You didn’t make a reservation?” he asked, surprised.
“I did,” she said without any further explanation.
While they waited, one of the owners—brothers who could never deny each other—came over and offered his sincere apology. “Some of the larger parties have taken longer than we anticipated,” he said, offering them each a drink on the house.
Class joint, Jason thought, happy to pass the time with a free drink, but the food had better be worth it. If he was being honest with himself, though, it had been a long time since he’d experienced such a positive first impression.
When they were finally escorted into the dimly-lit restaurant, Jason noticed that lots of people were drinking martinis. Not for me, he thought. The crowd was thick and happy, a cacophony of conversations filling the packed room. It was incredibly busy with wait staff flying around the room in some choreographed dance of chaos. They do a good business here, Jason thought.
He and Josie were led past the large dining room into an outside area covered by large tents. Jason craned his neck to survey the outdoor environment: A large Koi pond took up the center; surrounded by stone columns fire pits. Must be nice out there when it’s not pouring out, he decided, picturing some costumed man playing a Spanish guitar.
They were seated at a high top table and handed leather-bound menus.
“Want to try the pico sour?” Josie asked, quickly scanning the tall menu.
“Hell no.”
“You don’t even know what it is?”
“That’s right, but I do know what beer is and that’s exactly what I want.”The waiter approached, grinning. “Our bartender makes the best caipirinhas.”
“What’s that?” Jason asked.
“It’s made with cachaça, sugar and lime. Very delicious.”
“Not for me,” Jason said, unsure—and unwilling—to learn what cachaça is.
“Then why even ask, if you’re not going to try it?” Josie said, perturbed.
Jason grinned and looked back at the waiter. “I’ll have a beer. You pick the flavor,” he said. “Thanks.” The owner swung by, apologizing again for the wait. “Pick an appetizer on the house,” he told them.
They’d never had Peruvian or Bolivian cuisine before, so there were many questions about the menu. The waiter was extremely knowledgeable, answering each question in patient detail. From cevice and paella to sea bass and short ribs, there were so many unusual choices to pick from.
“And perhaps you’d like to share a pitcher of sangria?” he suggested.Jason shook his head. “I’ll stick with the beer.”
Josie was still shaking her disappointed head when two appetizers arrived at their table: The calamari they’d ordered and the other was a surprise that the owner had chosen—cold mashed potatoes filled with avocadoes and topped with chicken salad and some Peruvian sauce. Odd, Jason thought before devouring three out of the four on the plate. “Amazing,” he admitted, surprised.
Sitting outside by that waterfall must be real nice in the summer, Jason thought again, as the rain dripped onto the corner of the table, creating a small puddle.
Not long after finishing the appetizers, the smiling waiter delivered lobster paella for Josie, and steak with two eggs over easy, yuka fries and white rice—with a few fried plantains on the side—for him. Although the portions were huge, Jason had no delusions that there would be any left—from either plate—before they were done. “Let’s get at it,” he said, starting in on one of the best steaks he’d ever eaten.
Not only was the food out of this world, it was equally matched by the doting service. I’ve never experienced anything like this place, Jason thought, grateful for Josie’s surprise plans.
As they ate, Jason scanned the room. A woman, seated off in the corner, began coughing. Josie spun in her seat to see what the problem was.
“Relax,” Jason said, chewing a few fries, “she’s still breathing. No need for the Heimlich just yet.”
As Josie shook her head, the woman regained her composure.
In a different corner, a larger party—four middle-aged couples—debated politics with more fervor and volume than seemed appropriate. Normally, the raucous would have bothered Jason. For whatever reason, he found it entertaining. The table of empty margarita glasses probably isn’t helping, he thought.
While Jason continued to survey the room, one of the dark-haired waitresses hurried by the table and shot Jason a big smile. He smiled back.
“Nice,” Josie hissed.
“What?” Jason asked, taking a sip of beer.
“I saw that.”
“You saw nothing,” he said, slightly amused.
“I saw her flirting with you,” Josie said, her voice getting louder and angry. “And I saw you...”
He lifted his hand to halt her inebriated rant.
“You’re beautiful and sexy, Josie...a real wildcat in the sack. But you’re also as crazy as a shit house rat.”
“Excuse me!”
“Bottom line,” he said. “I’m getting way too old and tired to deal with this type of nonsense. If I wanted to be with someone else, I’d be with someone else...and I wouldn’t be hiding it.”
“But you...”
“But I’m here,” he interrupted, “with you...which is where I want to be.” Nodding, he added. “Please don’t change that.”
Josie opened her mouth again, but said nothing. Instead, she grabbed for her glass and took a long drink.
“Thanks for taking me here,” Jason said, smiling. “It’s top notch...the best surprise I’ve had in a long time.”
“You’re welcome,” she managed.
He smiled, thinking, It’s the perfect place to share our final meal together.
Miranda called on Saturday morning. “Dad, are you free this afternoon?”
“Sure, babe,” Jason said, feeling as excited as he was hung over. “Where are you taking me?”
“Nowhere, actually,” she said, pausing. “It’s just that...Mario needs to talk to you about something.”
“Talk to me about what?” Jason asked before a certain possibility dawned on him and his heart did a free fall into his socks. “About what?” he repeated, his tone sounding a bit frantic.
“You’ll know soon enough,” she said, and Jason could tell that the young man was standing beside her, waiting for the green light. “He’s on his way now.”
“Ummm...okay,” Jason stammered, his mind racing for a way to avoid this talk.
“And Dad,” she added, almost at a whisper.
“Yeah?”
“Please be nice to him.”
Jason swallowed hard. “I’m always nice,” he managed, “but it would be even nicer if you told me...”
“You’ll know soon enough,” she repeated. “I’ll call you later.”
With that, there was nothing but a dial tone. Jason looked at his cell phone in disbelief. Holy shit, he thought. I always figured this day would come but I didn’t expect it to be today. He headed for the fridge to grab a beer. Maybe he wants to talk to be about something else? Jason considered, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t come up with an alternate—and much more welcomed—reason.
Twenty minutes had elapsed—twice the time it should have taken Mario to drive over to his place—before there was a light knock on the front door. Holy shit, Jason repeated in his head, all those muscles and he can’t even... Shaking his head, he downed the rest of his beer and took a deep breath. “Here we go,” he muttered and swung open the front door.
Wearing a smile as broad as his chest, Mario stood on the stoop looking younger than Jason had ever seen him. And he was nervous—no, petrified—contagiously rubbing off on Jason. “Hi, Mr. Prendergast,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing like some small fish had taken the hook in his guts. “Can I talk to you for a few minutes?”
Jason couldn’t help it; he was frozen in the threshold—unable to move or speak. “Come in,” he finally said, “come in.”
Mario Arruda stood six feet tall on a bulging frame that spent hours in the gym, pumping iron. From appearances, Mario was a man. One look at his face, however, told Jason a different story. Kids grow up so much slower today than we did back in my day, he thought. Still, Jason couldn’t help but to like him; after only spending a few minutes with the baby-faced boy, his eyes and words both betrayed that he was a good guy—kind and considerate. Still, it wasn’t enough for Jason. If he was going to be with his daughter, Miranda, he needed to be a man.
Mario took a half dozen steps into the living room and spun on his heels.
“Take a seat,” Jason told him, gesturing toward the blanket-laden couch, “make yourself comfortable.”
This time, it was Mario who stood paralyzed. “Mr. Prendergast,” he said, his words dry and scratchy, “I love Miranda very much.”
“And so do I,” Jason instinctively countered. Without meaning to, he realized he’s squared his feet into a fighting posture—as if he were going to trade punches with the nervous kid. Just hear him out, he told himself. Mario’s a good kid.
“And I’m here to ask your permission to marry her,” he said, the words spilling out and lifting his shoulders a full two inches in relief.
As if he’s been pushed, Jason collapsed into his recliner—his eyes never leaving Mario’s. What the hell, he thought. You guys are so young. You have your whole lives ahead of you. There’s plenty of time to... He looked up to find Mario sitting on the edge of the couch, anxiously awaiting a reply; the boy’s eyes were swollen with equal amounts of fear and hope. Mario’s a good guy, Jason reminded himself and cleared his throat. “So you want to marry my daughter?” Jason started.
Mario nodded hard. “I do,” he said, the two simple words sending chills down Jason’s spine.
“And you think you can be a good husband to Miranda...a good provider?”
“I know I can, Mr. Prendergast.” He paused for a moment, while his eyes filled. “I’ve loved Miranda since the first day I met her and nothing’s ever going to change that.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Jason said, his heart flooding with the depth of love he felt for his little girl.
Mario smiled—for the first time sincerely.
“Will you provide for her...everything she needs?”
“You have my word.”
“And protect her?”
“With my life,” Mario answered.
Jason searched his eyes to discover it was the truth—moving him and sending the shiver back down his spine. “As the years pass by, marriage can feel like serving time for some men.”
“Never!” Mario blurted, “not with Miranda. I love her with everything inside me, Mr. Prendergast, and I’ll always be there for her no matter what happens.”
“I believe you,” Jason said, surprising himself as much as his future son-in-law.
“And you should,” Mario said sincerely. “Her happiness means more to me than my own.”
Okay, son, Jason thought, but if you ever abuse her in any way, I’ll punish you in ways you can’t even imagine. He never posed the threat, but he could tell by Mario’s face that it was already understood. Sighing heavily—in surrender—he extended his hand. Mario grabbed it and gave it the firm shake he was counting on. “You have my blessing, son,” he said. “But although Miranda will become your wife—for which I’ll respect and never interfere—understand that she’ll always be my little girl.” Jason choked on the last two words and his eyes immediately filled. Yet, he never tried to hide it. It was good that his daughter’s future husband understand the depth of love. “Always,” he repeated.
“I understand, sir,” Mario said, his own eyes filling. He tightened his grip.
Jason nodded. “And there’s no need to call me sir. We’re going to be family, for God’s sake.” He pulled his hand free and patted Mario on the back. “Just call me Mr. Prendergast.”
Mario’s brow rose in confusion.
That’ll keep him on his toes for a while, Jason thought, trying to beat back a laugh. “What do you say we have a beer and celebrate?”
Mario nodded. “That sound great.”
Jason headed for the kitchen. “You are old enough to drink a beer, right?’ he called over his shoulder.
“I am, Mr. Prendergast,” Mario answered.
With his back to the boy, Jason smiled.
~~~
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