My Dinner With Strannix.

I was just trying to scramble out the back door, but Bill had probably parked a ways down the drive, and the man could be silent as light itself when it suited him. I heard exactly one footstep and then I was nailed.

Bill:  Funny seein' you here.

Deb:  I was just on my way out.

Bill:  Like hell.

It was sleeting outside, blustery in a way that cut to the bone.  I had
no jacket and one of Bill's t-shirts was flapping over a limp pair of sweat
pants.  But I was on my way out.  With a dripping dishcloth in my hands.

Bill picked me up bodily and set me on the wet countertop.

Deb:  My butt's wet.

Bill:  Means it'll sting more when I paddle it...where've you been?

Deb:  Usual places.  Around.

Bill:  Sam's roof.  Under his desk.  Usual places.

Deb:  I get around.

Bill:  You're yankin' my chain.

Deb:  I'm sitting in a puddle of water.

Bill:  Whatcha got planned for dinner?

Deb:  Whatever I can find.  Why?

Bill:  Why.  Y'been hintin' around, playing these half-assed games.  Ya
wanna go out t'eat or not?

I wasn't expecting that.

Deb:  Yeah.  I'd like that a lot.

Bill:  Shoulda just asked.  Go on...shower up.  Got reservations at that
French place Shrimp's always yowlin' about.

Bill dragged me off the counter and slapped me on my soaking wet bottom.

I waited until I was under the warm spray to have any sort of reaction.  
Bill could run his mouth all he wanted to...he probably wasn't fooling 
anyone anymore.  There was nothing at all he could say to fool me.  Bill
had fallen down the hill, and wasn't about to speak of the bumps and scrapes
he'd picked up on the trip down.  It was this pride that endeared him to me
more than anything.

When I came out of the shower, Bill was getting ready to shave.  He had only
to wait for the mirror to clear and he could begin.  I dried myself off and
dressed in one of the few sweater and skirt combinations I owned - Chez
Suzette wasn't drop dead formal but my usual ensemble of sweats and one of
Bill's limp t-shirts wouldn't cut it there, either.  Bill had changed his
jeans and had a dark t-shirt hanging from the doorknob.  Dressing up.  I
watched him lather his face and shave it with the straight razor he'd
inherited from his father...I believed him when he said it did a better job
than either a safety razor or an electric one.  When he was through, I
stepped quickly to his side, wiped a stray bit of soap from his smooth
cheek, and kissed the corner of his mouth.  Inhaling his scent, soap and
water and cologne, was often the best part of what were good days.  Bill
turned slightly, deepened the kiss...and I had to get back into the shower
and be content with clean jeans and a sweater when I got out.

Deb:  Isn't that Sam's Lincoln?

Bill looked where I was pointing and saw the Gerard Continental,
parked off in regal isolation in a far corner of the lot.

Bill:  Damned if it ain't.  Can't go anyplace without that blasted dawg
showin' up.

Deb:  Valet parking, Billy?

Bill:  I'm gonna pay some fool five bucks to park my car when I can do it
myself for nothin'?  Don't think so, baby.

I took his elbow as we walked to the door of the restaurant, and he let
me.  Once inside, I dropped his elbow, out of respect for his aversion to
public displays of affection.  But he guided me with his hand, fingertips
against the small of my back.

Bill:  Strannix.

Maitre'd:  For two?

Bill:  You see anybody else here?

I jabbed him in the ribs.  I had been doing this for nearly a year...
would I ever learn that he scarcely felt it when I jumped on him, let alone
limited myself to a polite poke?

Maitre'd:  This way, please.

Bill seemed to be deliberately trying for heavy footfalls, eyes behind
the inevitable sunglasses scanning the room for possible trouble.  It
seemed as though every head in the room turned toward us when we walked
in...and back in the corner I saw Beth cover her mouth, and the humongous
grin that curved it, with her hand.

Bill:  Never mind, Lurch.  We'll sit over here.

Bill struck off across the dining room, nudging between the tables and
chairs, dragging me by the hand.

Deb:  Sorry...'scuse us...Bill, slow down...sorry...sorry...

Bill:  Damn!  Hey, Shrimp, Dawg...mind if we join ya?

Sam:  Oh, shitfire and save matches.

From the look on his face it appeared that Sam minded a great deal.  I
tossed him a pleading look and I could see his shirt wrinkle where Beth
drove an elbow into his side.  I could also see her absently rubbing that
same elbow.  Bill pulled out one of the chairs at the table, swung his leg 
over the back and dropped into it, hard.  

Bill:  We'll park it here, Sparky.

Sam half rose from his seat.  This was not something he ordinarily did,
but I put it down to the occasion.

Bill:  Can the bullshit, Dawg...'s just the Punk.  Siddown, girl.

The maitre'd pulled out my chair for me, definitely one of those little
courtesies I was unused to.
 
I mouthed some words at Sam and Beth...'sorry, I had no idea he'd pull
this...' but Beth shook her head at me in a comforting way and turned an
expression on Sam that managed to quell him and caress him at the same time.
Still, I felt sorry for Sam.  His romantic dinner for two was shot all to
hell now that the one man wrecking crew was in charge.

Bill accepted the menu from the waiter, snarled at the prices printed on it.

Sam:  Little too rich for your blood, Strannix?

Did Sam sound hopeful, as though he wished Bill would be offended, pack
me up and leave?

Bill:  Can't figure why'n hell they'd charge this much for fried Spam.

I remembered thinking something similar over my dinner with the Harveys.

Beth:  Isn't this nice?

I looked at her, wondering what in the world was tickling her, and then
I understood.  Beth was going to lose it at some point during the meal.
She had warned me fairly and I had decided not to listen and now she was
going to sit back and enjoy the show.

Sam:  Baby?

He gave her a sharp look.  Don't start.  Too late.  She was off to the
races.

Bill:  Get whatcha want, Punk.

Magnanimous of him.  There wasn't much to choose from. In the manner of
the grand restaurants, the bill of fare was limited and changed daily,
depending on what was available.  I noticed there was filet and thought it
would be safe, so I indicated that.  In fact it looked like the very same
meal we had had for Christmas and Bill had eaten that, so I was relieved.

Sam:  That's white of ya, Strannix.

Bill:  I want shit from you I'll ask for it.

Sparky:  Would either of you gentlemen care to see a wine list?

Bill:  Gentlemen? We got a cop and a...

Deb:  Bill, shut the hell up, you big ape!

Bill:  You talkin' t'me?

Deb:  Yeah, you, Travis Bickle.  Shut up.

Sam:  I'd like our bottle...the chardonnay.

Sparky:  Of course, Mr. Gerard.  Right away.

Bill spewed water all over the fresh floral centerpiece.

Bill:  You got your own private bottlea...

I kicked him under the table, fiercely.  It hurt me, fiercely.

Deb:  Bill, bag it!

Sparky turned to Bill.

Sparky:  And you, sir?

Bill: Bottlea your best red.

Said with about as much regard for cost as Bill might have given a fifty
cent package of gum.  Sparky looked him over - the scuffed boots, faded
jeans, t-shirt and scarred leather jacket.  Bill didn't look like the sort
of man who would know the difference between port and starboard, let alone
Port and Thunderbird.

Sparky:  The best?

Bill:  You got a hearin' problem?  I know whatcha get for that shit, get 
'er out here and open 'er up.

Beth was staring at her hands, but I got a glimpse of her cheek and it
was an alarming shade of red.  Bill gave Sparky a look and a poke which
sent the waiter running.

The waiter returned with a bottle, which he uncorked and poured into the
glass Bill was holding in his face.  Seemed Sparky was looking for his
customary flourish, but he was nervous as hell.  Bill was supposed to taste
and approve the wine and I assumed he knew it, too, based on his training.
Instead he tossed back the swallow he'd been poured and indicated, with an
impatient shake of the glass, that he wanted more.  Next he waved my glass
under Sparky's nose.  Beth's shoulders were heaving and Sam was watching
in open mouthed...something.

Sam:  You okay, Baby?

Beth:  Just fine, sweet boy.

Bill reached across and flicked my ear.

Bill:  Whatcha laughin' at, giggles?

Deb:  Not a thing.

Another run for Sparky, to return with a dusty bottle of chardonnay for
Sam.  He poured a swallow for Sam, which seemed foolish since he had
bought and paid for the bottle and it was his regardless of whether it was
fit to drink or fit only to put on a salad...oh, joy.  There was another
thought.  Salad.  Sam nodded, and Sparky poured for them both.

Sparky:  Shall I bring appetizers?

They did not appear to stand on ceremony with Deputy Marshal Gerard at
Chez Suzette.  None of the horse ovaries crap.  Appetizers.  Did we want
appetizers.

Bill:  Y'got nachos?

Beth's shoulders heaved and Sam's deep brown eyes rolled expressively
in their sockets, rather like those of a horse caught in a thunderstorm.  I
kept my own eyes very strictly on my hands.  It seemed like the wisest
course of action under the circumstances.

Sam:  Damn ass!  This was supposed to be just Beth and me...!

Bill:  Sucks t'be you, then, don't it, Dawg?  Hey, Sparky, can we order
now?

Sparky:  I can take your order when I bring your appetizers.

Bill:  Sounds like a plan. Get a move on, boy.  Girl gets cranky when she
ain't been fed.

I could have challenged that about six ways but was unwilling to start
a verbal flank action I couldn't win.  Instead I remained silent, counting
my fingers because, marvelous company that they are, they always add up the
same way.  Sparky disappeared at flank speed, and returned shortly with 
the appetizers.  He took the orders and then appeared with the salads.

Bill:  What the hell's a man want with rabbit food...Punk, you want this
shit?

Deb:  Don't think so, Bill, but thanks.

Sam had been eating away at his own rabbit food with great gusto.  His
jaws slowed, finally stopped, and he stared quite comically at Bill.  Beth
and I were keeping our eyed glued to our salads, to look up would be to
laugh.  Bill, once Mr. White-Gloves Midshipman, was now Li'l Abner.  His
bandanna hung around his neck, almost as a mockery of Sam's shirt and tie.
I knew if I asked him to put it in his pocket he would merely anchor it to
his skull and replace the shades.

Sam swallowed, then reached to gently embrace Beth.  He apparently mistook
her choked giggles for signs of distress.

Sam:  Honey...?

Beth:  Fine, Sam...just...fine...

She didn't sound fine at all, but that was to be expected.  Finally, the
main course came...and in one case, left again.  And again.  And again.

Sam:  Strannix, you send that filet back one more time, I'm gonna make 
you choke on it.

Bill:  In your dreams, big boy.

Beth:  Sam, I warned you.  Look at it this way, Bill.  If you have to wait 
much longer for the food, maybe you'll have enough time to comandeer the
kitchen.  Aim the Salad Shooter at Honolulu.

There was a solid thunk under the table.

Beth:  OW!!

This was followed by a more intense thunk, louder, with more juice.

Bill:  OW!!  Goddammit, Dawg!!

Sam levelled a warning finger at Bill. I thought that was delicious.  As
if Bill gave a rat's ass for Sam's warnings.  Bill gave me that look
of his.

Bill:  Shut up.

I knew I had better at least attempt to do what I was told, so I pulled
a horrendous impression of a straight face.  There was a huge crack from
under the table.

Sam:  OW!

This thumping and thudding belowdecks was staring to be habit forming.
Bill hissed briefly, like an angry cat, then lurched across the table toward
Sam, which of course caused Sam to have to lurch across the table toward
Bill.  Neither of the behemoths got more than three inches out of their
respective chairs before Beth and I each put a hand on a tensely muscled
arm to pull them back down.

Beth:  Okay, okay, easy, Silver...

Deb:  Sit down before you get us tossed out of here, Bill.

I could see Beth, lightly rubbing Sam's thigh, and again had the chance
to watch Sam visibly settle.  Bill, as usual, was vibrating.

Sam:  Here comes the food again, Strannix.  Remember what I toldja.

Bill:  When I need a good laugh, I'll keep it in mind.

Beth:  Both of you!  Behave yourselves.

Sam:  Can't make a comment?

Sparky set the filet, now on its third trip to the table, down in front
of Bill.  Strannix turned a jaundiced eye on it, and pointed at it.

Bill:  What's this shit?

Beth was doing a pretty fair imitation of a kindergarten teacher, and I
was absolutely no help.  Her first words were for Sam.

Beth:  Let's try the strong, silent type, eh?

And her next words were for Bill.

Beth:  Looks like a medium-rare filet mignon to me, Bill, but I could be
delusional.
 
Bill:  Thought I said rare, Sparky.

I stealthily exchanged my plate for Bill's.  I had cut into my filet
already and it was plenty rare, but I had refrained from eating it because
Bill had no dinner and I had never been able to bring myself to eat in
front of someone.

Deb:  Check again, Bill.

Bill attempted to make a cut...surprise, the meat fell away, as if it 
had been sliced.  He unlimbered the look again.

Deb:  Please, Bill.  I'll be okay with yours.  Let's just enjoy ourselves.

I reached over and patted his hand once.  Sam observed this little move
with a grin and an eyebrow shooting atticward.  Bill was satisfied with the
meat, but was now able to look beyond it to find fault with the rest of the
meal.

Bill:  What.  Is.  That.  Shit?

Beth:  Cow, Bill.  I think they refer to it as a cow.  It's been a long 
time since I had my "See and Say" but I'm pretty sure that's from some sort 
of bovine.

By this point, my head was down, my shoulders were heaving,and there
were horrible noises issuing from beneath the fringe of hair hanging in my 
face.  Sam just leaned back with a wide grin, placing a warm big hand on 
the back of Beth's neck and massaging it gently.  I countinued to emit
gerbil noises.  Bill reached across the table and casually batted Beth's
shoulder, which rocked her back against Sam.

Bill:  This, lippy.  Lumps.  What the hell.

The noises I heard myself making changed in character, from gerbil to
porcine.  I snorted fruitily, and then I giggled.

Deb:  Lumps....

Never one to miss a chance when it presented itself, Sam used Beth's
momentum to pull her head against him with his massive forearm.  Beth
was finding the gerbil noises hard to resist.  She was beginning to laugh
herself.  She leaned against her man and pointed at me.

Beth:  I don't know.  Ask the quivering sous chef there.

Sam took the opportunity to kiss Beth on the top of the head.

Sam:  Eat.  You need it.

Beth:  You, too, Sam.

Bill:  What...?

Deb:  Scallions.  I'm sorry.  I can't breathe any more.

Bill was adressing his remarks to Beth but looking me dead in the face
as I fought for control.

Bill:  You know what he means.  You don't need to be two steps away from 
a damn hospital again.  And that big ox could stand to skip a few meals.

I nearly lost it.  What came out sounded like a strangled squeal.  Sam
unloaded on him again.

Bill:  OW!  Dammit!  Don't start that again.

He jabbed me sharply with his elbow.

Bill:  And what the hell is a scallion?  And what the hell is it doing on
my steak?

Holding this in was becoming harder and harder.

Deb:  Little...oniony kinda thing...

Fortunately for me, Bill had been distracted somehow by Sam.  He reached
across the table and batted Sam...a lot like a boulder crashing into a
stone wall.  Sam had to respond in kind, which rocked Bill in his chair, 
then Sam turned to Beth.

Sam:  Honey, come on...eat.

Beth had a mouthful and she was trying to consume it and grin around it,
a complicated maneuver.

Beth:  But you've got to promise to do the Heimlich if I start choking.

Sam:  Heimlich, mouth to mouth, whatever it takes.  Just eat.

Bill stopped glaring at Sam.  I could tell it bothered him to do it.

Bill:  Little oniony WHAT??

I knew I was dangerously red just from the way my face felt.

Deb:  Thingies.  You like steak and onions.

Bill:  Steak and onions.  Yeah.

Deb:  So...steak and oniony thingies.  Close enough.

Next thing I knew I had a fork with a scallion on it hanging off the end
of my nose.

Bill:  This look like an onion to you?!?!?!

Beth lost it.  She managed to turn away and mist the ferns with the
contents of her water glass.  Then she started to cough, silently and
somewhat desperately.  Sam reacted instantly, patting her back in a
distracted and slightly fussy way.  Beth reacted as though she was being
pounded by a jackhammer.

Deb:  It looks like an onion...thingy...sorta... 
                                    
I ate up the scallion before it could drip on my jeans.

Deb:  Yeah...kinda oniony...I'd say.

Sam's mother hen act was making Beth giggle as well as cough.

Beth:  Stop . . . stop.  I'm fine.

When he didn't, she reached around behind her to grab his hand.  Never
one to miss a trick, Sam started to play catch-me-if-you-can.  Meantime,
Bill was giving me the old hairy eyeball.

Bill:  What the hell kinda crap you tryin t'sell me?

Sam and Beth had allowed the moment to degenerate into a mild slap and 
tickle session.  Sam tickled her back and Beth tried to make him notice 
it when she slapped his leg.

Deb:  You wanted a steak.  It's a steak.  Eat it.

Beth finally managed to grab Sam's hand with both of hers, but she was
still losing the arm-wrestling competition...handily.  Sam seemed to be
mostly unaware of her struggle.  Bill had set on a better idea.  He whacked
off a slice of the steak and impaled it.  He leaned into me, his beefy
forearm across my shoulders and the steak-laden fork dangling in front of
my lips.

Bill:  You first.

Deb:  Oh, shit.  

I chomped up the steak.

Deb:  And you're not getting any of mine, so forget it.

Beth:  Uncle!  Uncle!

Bill leaned, quick as a cat, and kissed me.  At home, I might have gone
starry eyed and pliant...but I was learning.  I socked him hard in the
thigh...and then had to shake my hand hard to bring the feeling back.

Bill:  Ain't half bad.

Deb:  Goof.

Beth tried massaging her sore hands and Sam took them in both of his.
He rubbed his thumbs across the back, and for a minute they forgot we were
there.

Sam:  Better?

Beth bumped her head against his shoulder.

Beth:  Always better.

Strannix?  His presence forgotten?  Can't have that, now, can we.  He
grabbed hold of Sparky as the waiter went by and brought the young man up
short.  He thrust a long finger in the direction of his filet.

Bill:  Sparky, gotta bigger onea these?

Beth:  Bill...!

Three separate and distinct whacks from under the table later...

Bill:  OW...goddamn!!!

Deb:  No!  No more, stop harassing the man, Bill.  You can have mine if it
comes to that, I'm not hungry anymore...Jesus Jumped-up Christ, you're
worse than the weather.

Sam:  Worse than a woman?

Deb:  You dry up over there!

Beth:  What's that supposed to mean?!

Bill:  Who you callin' a woman!!!

There was no stopping him.  He had hold of Sam before I knew he was going
to move, and Sam was responding in kind...

Bill:  Now ya know why I like eatin' at home.

Deb:  Cause you always wind up doing it anyhow.  Just make sure Augustus
doesn't get hold of that box...last time he got at that sauce he was sick
for a week.  

TO BE CONTINUED...