e. But anyway, my sweetheart, I am suddenly in the thick of work with two customers, and hungry ones, judging by their faces — in fact, not wanting to be a fibber either, they came in more than five minutes ago and have been good about it but they got to get back to work too and business hasn’t been that hot, so we need them, so give me your number where you are and I’ll call back soon,” and she says “I can call you at home later — when would be the best time?” and he says “No, please, I don’t want to miss you, long as you’re here — to be straight open, you might change your mind or have a memory lapse for your entire time here, only kidding, or even lose my phone numbers — that could happen, people lose things — and not remember how to get them — place I work at is called the Corner Cafe, but no ‘the’ before it, just Corner Cafe, so listed in the directory under C, for Corner, then ‘Cafe’ after it, and on Abbott Street, like Bud Abbott and Lou Costello — Abbott and Costello they were called, but you wouldn’t remember them, an old-time comedian team,” and she says “Sure, I once saw a movie with them on TV, or maybe it was a video with my kids — something with a ghost, the humor grossly dated and somewhat trite, but they didn’t like it much either — you have to understand I’m not that young and you’re not that old, you might have had me when you were past thirty but now I’m getting to be thirty,” and he says “Not possible,” and she says “I’m telling you, I’ll even show you my driver’s license,” and he says “You mean you’re old enough to drive? — only kidding, and I want to see it, you show it when you see me, and listen, Margo, if you don’t call I’ll only go from hotel to hotel looking for you and there has to be a couple of dozen of them by the harbor now, so wouldn’t that be a waste of time? and I’d also be putting my job on the line or my bosses in a tough spot because I wouldn’t go in when I’m supposed to and they need me, as I’d be out searching for you,” and she says “I swear I’ll call, or just meet us for lunch tomorrow,” and he says “Lunch is so short — I know, fellas,” he says to the customers at the counter, “I’ll be right there — my daughter,” pointing to the mouthpiece, then the ear part, “after I can’t tell you how many years,” and the men nod, say with their hands “Take your time,” and he says into the phone “Excuse me, I had to pause for work stuff, anyway, lunch is too short and I don’t think I could get off, so what about dinner tonight, out, my treat, all of you?” and she says “Dinner? tonight? — just a moment, Dad,” and she starts talking away from the phone—“He wants to take us all out for dinner tonight”—and another voice talks, but all garbled, and then he hears nothing, her hand must be muzzling the receiver, and one of the men says “Long as you’re just standing there, Nat, start my regular,” and he says “Hold it, she might suddenly come back on, and when it’s over I’ll be extra fast, making up for what time you lost,” and another man says “At least our coffee, or mine, heck with him,” and he puts his hand up for them to wait and she says “All right…Dad?” and he says yeah and she says “Tonight, but our treat, Glen didn’t think he could get away from a cocktail party-dinner his company’s throwing, but this comes first,” and he says “Great, but my treat, I insist on it,” and she says “We’ll meet only if you abide by this one condition — it’s on us,” and he says “I’ll abide, I’ll abide, I can’t wait to abide,” and she gives him the name of a restaurant near their hotel that she heard was good—“You still like seafood, or rather, did you ever?” and he says “Anything, pizza, even, Crackerjacks — just seeing you all is all I want, food’s no consequence but I’ll eat if that’s your second condition,” and what time to meet and they meet at the front of the restaurant, he’s there fifteen minutes before, thinking maybe they’ll get there early, can’t believe it’s her when she comes in, knows though immediately it is, very slim but not skinny, taller, even, and she was tall then, filled out on top or maybe it’s what she’s wearing, no, she was still developing when he last saw her, old as she was, hips, longer legs, the fashionable clothes it seems, anyway, well dressed, pretty as ever, prettier, beautiful and not just because she’s his daughter, any man would fall for her, a decent honest intelligent man but he bets the horns also can’t take their eyes off her when she walks down the street, a kid before, woman now, nice-looking son, tall, like him and her but not his father who’s a couple inches shorter than her and she’s not wearing heels, kid a little scared of him or just shy, almost no smile, fish handshake but he’s still very young, he likes the way they dress him for the restaurant or the occasion he could say, jacket and tie, husband seems nice, dignified, polite, bright, comes from money or made it on his own ethically, somewhat square or so it seems at first meeting, clothes, haircut, company man looks like, she hurries over to him second she sees him and kisses his cheek, “I know you, you must be my dad and practically unchanged,” smiling, stepping back, “Absolutely none, you’re amazing,” introduces her husband and son, he’s dressed up too, his one tie with his one suit he got married in almost thirty years ago and wore day after day in court and it still looks good, wore it into prison just to have it when he got out, they only allowed one outfit to bring in and for them to store, dry-cleaned it soon after his release but hasn’t worn it once till now, didn’t need a pressing though, kept its shape, wood hanger instead of wire and the plastic bag never off it, heavy wool on this warm June day, trouser legs might be a bit baggy but his weight’s the same, maybe differently distributed but he can’t see, as it was some fifteen years ago and he doesn’t seem to have shrunk any, shirt is one of the two he wears at work and last night washed and hung-dried, tie he used for a few of his job interviews years before, shaved though he’d shaved at six this morning before going to work, said to himself in the bathroom mirror while shaving “Feel like I’m going to meet this love-of-my-life girlfriend of ten years ago who I’m still crazy about and she’s just split up with her husband and I think there’s a chance between us — look at yourself, that’s how nervous and scared you are,” lots of questions while they sit at their table and all have drinks, kid a Shirley Temple but he says, after Glen gives the waitress their drink order, “For a boy it’s a Jackie Coogan, I think,” and all three of them and the waitress say “Who’s he?” or “What’s that?” and he says “Abbott and Costello’s roommate and sidekick,” and Margo laughs and Glen says “What gives — old family joke?” and the waitress says “But same thing as a Shirley Temple, correct — no alcohol, dash of grenadine, a bar cherry?” and goes and he says “Could be I’m wrong and for all I know a Coogan gets club soda instead of ginger ale and maybe even a couple of drops of rye — what do I know about heavy drinking? and also Coogan was probably more Shirley Temple’s contemporary than Bud and Lou’s,” and Glen says “Pardon me again, sir, but who are they?” and he says “What kind of cloaked — what’s the word, closeted, closed-off, maybe — family you grow up in that you don’t know them? — mine we made sure my kids learned important things like that — only kidding,” and Saul says “You said ‘my kids,’ Grandpa — you have any more children after you and Grandma Lee got a divorce? Because it’d be nice knowing I have another aunt and uncle and cousins somewhere, even if only step ones,” and he says “You would have an aunt and no doubt the rest but we don’t want to go into it now — she was younger than you when she passed away — is that remarkable, Margo, can that be believed, that she was probably younger than your son here? — sweetest kid,” he says to Saul, “outside of your mother, of course — they were equals in sweetness — that was ever alive,” and starts to cry and Saul says to his parents “Did I do something?” and Margo says “