that.”
“I would,” I said, “but some very large men in her employ have advised against it.”
“I see.”
“I was going to tell them where to go,” I said, “but I was afraid I might scare them to death.”
Claus was back now, refilling water glasses and whisking our empty plates away to the kitchen. Moments later he returned with the entrées, and we dug in.
“Mulligan?”
“Um?”
“Know what puzzles me most?”
“What would that be?”
“Why haven’t you unbuttoned that blazer? It’s obviously a bit tight on you, and I can tell you’re uncomfortable.”
“Not as uncomfortable as I’d be if I unbuttoned it.”
“And why is that?”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“Tell me.”
“Well, it’s like this. There was an old coffee cup on my desk. I thought it was empty, but…”
She was chuckling now, and I hadn’t even reached the good part.
“When I stood up to come here,” I said, “I knocked it over and, uh … I didn’t have time to go home to change.”
“So you have a coffee stain on your nice white shirt.”
“A little spot, yeah.”
“Open up,” she said, nodding toward the groaning button.
“What for?”
“Because it would amuse me.”
“If that’s what it takes,” I said, and unbuttoned the jacket.
“Oh, snap!”
“Yeah.”
“You sure it was just a cup? Looks like the whole damn pot.”
She was laughing harder now, her head thrown back. It made her look even more beautiful.
That’s when Claus reappeared and said, “Are we ready for dessert? Coffee, perhaps?” His timing was impeccable.
“No coffee for me,” I said. “I already have some.”
Yolanda put her elbows on the table, folded her hands, and rested her chin on them.
“You really are charming in a klutzy sort of way.”
“Thanks. I think.”
Claus spotted the stain and smirked at me again.
“Two Irish coffees,” Yolanda told him, “and we’ll share a slice of cheesecake with strawberries.”
“Right away.”
“And Claus?”
“Yes, madam.”
“Stop throwin’ shade at my friend if you expect the usual tip.”
Claus skittered away. I’d never seen anyone skitter before, but I’m pretty sure that’s what it was.
“You didn’t have to defend me,” I said after he’d gone. “I think I could have taken him.”
She rested her chin on her hands again and gave me an appraising look. I tried my best to appear irresistible, no easy thing with my torso drenched in Folgers.
“Hey,” I said, “do you like the blues?”
“I’m a Chicago girl, West Side. Damn right I like the blues. On the drive in from East Greenwich this morning, I jammed all the Littles on my iPod.”
“The Littles?”
“You know. Little Milton, Little Walter, Little Buddy Doyle…”
“Cool.”
“On the way home, I’m gonna switch to the Bigs. Big Bill Dolson, Big Pete Pearson, Big Time Sarah…”
“I never thought to sort them by weight class.”
I opened my mouth to say something more, but Claus was back with the coffee and cheesecake, and I saw no need to make him a party to my imminent rejection. Yolanda scooped a bit of the cheesecake into her mouth, closed her eyes, and went, “Mmmm.” I wanted to hear that sound again, but without cheesecake in the picture.
“So listen,” I said when Claus was gone, “Buddy Guy’s at the House of Blues in Boston a week from Saturday. Why don’t we go?”
“Not happenin’, Mulligan.”
“You don’t like Buddy Guy?”
“You just don’t know. I adore Buddy Guy. It’s you I’ve got a problem with.”
“Problem?”
“I told you before, Mulligan. I’m not into white boys.”
“It’s been a long time since I was a boy.”
“I’ll give you that, but you can’t outgrow being white.”
“Didn’t I tell you? I’m black Irish.”
“Doesn’t count,” she said, but her eyes were dancing.
“I’ve got rhythm, too.”
“Yeah, right,” she said. “You’re a regular James Brown.”
“We have so much in common,
“I would,” I said, “but some very large men in her employ have advised against it.”
“I see.”
“I was going to tell them where to go,” I said, “but I was afraid I might scare them to death.”
Claus was back now, refilling water glasses and whisking our empty plates away to the kitchen. Moments later he returned with the entrées, and we dug in.
“Mulligan?”
“Um?”
“Know what puzzles me most?”
“What would that be?”
“Why haven’t you unbuttoned that blazer? It’s obviously a bit tight on you, and I can tell you’re uncomfortable.”
“Not as uncomfortable as I’d be if I unbuttoned it.”
“And why is that?”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“Tell me.”
“Well, it’s like this. There was an old coffee cup on my desk. I thought it was empty, but…”
She was chuckling now, and I hadn’t even reached the good part.
“When I stood up to come here,” I said, “I knocked it over and, uh … I didn’t have time to go home to change.”
“So you have a coffee stain on your nice white shirt.”
“A little spot, yeah.”
“Open up,” she said, nodding toward the groaning button.
“What for?”
“Because it would amuse me.”
“If that’s what it takes,” I said, and unbuttoned the jacket.
“Oh, snap!”
“Yeah.”
“You sure it was just a cup? Looks like the whole damn pot.”
She was laughing harder now, her head thrown back. It made her look even more beautiful.
That’s when Claus reappeared and said, “Are we ready for dessert? Coffee, perhaps?” His timing was impeccable.
“No coffee for me,” I said. “I already have some.”
Yolanda put her elbows on the table, folded her hands, and rested her chin on them.
“You really are charming in a klutzy sort of way.”
“Thanks. I think.”
Claus spotted the stain and smirked at me again.
“Two Irish coffees,” Yolanda told him, “and we’ll share a slice of cheesecake with strawberries.”
“Right away.”
“And Claus?”
“Yes, madam.”
“Stop throwin’ shade at my friend if you expect the usual tip.”
Claus skittered away. I’d never seen anyone skitter before, but I’m pretty sure that’s what it was.
“You didn’t have to defend me,” I said after he’d gone. “I think I could have taken him.”
She rested her chin on her hands again and gave me an appraising look. I tried my best to appear irresistible, no easy thing with my torso drenched in Folgers.
“Hey,” I said, “do you like the blues?”
“I’m a Chicago girl, West Side. Damn right I like the blues. On the drive in from East Greenwich this morning, I jammed all the Littles on my iPod.”
“The Littles?”
“You know. Little Milton, Little Walter, Little Buddy Doyle…”
“Cool.”
“On the way home, I’m gonna switch to the Bigs. Big Bill Dolson, Big Pete Pearson, Big Time Sarah…”
“I never thought to sort them by weight class.”
I opened my mouth to say something more, but Claus was back with the coffee and cheesecake, and I saw no need to make him a party to my imminent rejection. Yolanda scooped a bit of the cheesecake into her mouth, closed her eyes, and went, “Mmmm.” I wanted to hear that sound again, but without cheesecake in the picture.
“So listen,” I said when Claus was gone, “Buddy Guy’s at the House of Blues in Boston a week from Saturday. Why don’t we go?”
“Not happenin’, Mulligan.”
“You don’t like Buddy Guy?”
“You just don’t know. I adore Buddy Guy. It’s you I’ve got a problem with.”
“Problem?”
“I told you before, Mulligan. I’m not into white boys.”
“It’s been a long time since I was a boy.”
“I’ll give you that, but you can’t outgrow being white.”
“Didn’t I tell you? I’m black Irish.”
“Doesn’t count,” she said, but her eyes were dancing.
“I’ve got rhythm, too.”
“Yeah, right,” she said. “You’re a regular James Brown.”
“We have so much in common,
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