Bad attitude, especially for a dinky little place this dead at the height of the lunch hour. Not to mention the musty smell and what passed for decor: worn lace curtains drawn back carelessly from flyspecked windows, dark, dingy wood varnished so many times it looked like plastic. The booths that lined the mustard-colored walls were cracked black leather, the tables covered with your basic cliche checkered oilcloth. Ditto Chianti bottles in straw hanging from the ceiling and those little hexagonal floor tiles that would never be white again. Call Architectural Digest.
When she and Zoe had stepped in, the waiter hadn't even come forward, just kept wiping the bartop like some religious rite. When he'd finally looked up, he'd stared at the high-chair Karen had dragged along as if he'd never seen one before. Stared at Zoe, too, but not with any kindness. Which told you where he was at, because everyone adored Zoe, every single person who laid eyes on her said she she was the most adorable little thing they'd ever encountered.
The milky skin-Karen's contribution. The dimples and black curls from Doug.
And not just family. Strangers. People were always stopping Karen on the street just to tell her what a peach Zoe was.
But that was back home. This city was a lot less friendly. She'd be happy to get back.
Let's hear it for business trips. God bless Doug, he did try to be liberated. Agreeing to have all three of them travel together. He'd made a commitment and stuck to it; how many men could you say that about? The things you do for love.
They'd been together four years. Met on the job, both of them free-lancing, and right away she'd thought he was gorgeous. Maybe too gorgeous, because that type was often unbearably vain. Then to find out he was nice. And bright. And a good listener. Pinch me, I'm dreaming.
Within a week they were living together, married a month later. When they'd finally decided to build a family, Doug showed his true colors: true blue. Agreeing to an equal partnership, splitting parenthood right down the middle so they could both take on projects.
It hadn't worked out that way but that was her doing, not his. Karen was a firm believer in the value of careful research and during her pregnancy she read everything she could find about child development. But despite all the books and magazine articles, there was no way she could have known how demanding motherhood would turn out to be. And how it would change her.
Even with that, Doug had done more than his share: convincing her to express milk so he could get up for middle-of-the-night feedings, changing diapers. Lots of diapers; Zoe had a healthy digestive system, God bless her, but Doug wasn't one to worry about getting his hands dirty.
He'd even offered to cut back on projects and stay home so Karen could get out more but she found herself wanting to spend less time on the job, more with Zoe.
What a homebody I've become. Go know.
She touched Zoe's hair, thought of the feel of Zoe's soft little body, stretched out wiggling and kicking and pink on the changing table. Then Doug's body, long and muscled…
The restaurant had grown quiet.
She realized Zoe was quiet. Elbow-deep in the spaghetti now, kneading. Little Ms. Rodin. Maybe it was a sign of talent. Karen considered herself artistic, though sculpture wasn't her medium.
Watching Zoe's little hands work the mess of what had once been linguine with just a little butter and cheese, she laughed to herself. Pasta. It meant paste and now it really was.
Zoe scooped up a gob, looked at it, threw it onto the floor, laughing.
"Eh-ch"
Bend and stretch, bend and stretch… she did miss running with Doug. The two of them shared so much, had such a special rapport. Working in the same field helped, of course, but Karen liked to think the bond went deeper. That their union had produced something greater than the sum of its parts.
And baby makes three… Motherhood was much tougher than anything she'd ever done, but also more rewarding in ways she'd never expected. Nubby fingers caressing her cheek as she rocked Zoe to sleep. The first cries of "Mama!" from the remote-control speaker each morning. Such incredible need. Thinking about it almost made her cry. How could she go back to working full-time with this little peach needing her so intensely?
Thank God money was no problem. Doug was doing great and how many people could say that during these hard times. Karen had learned long ago not to believe in the concept of deservedness, but if anyone deserved success it was Doug. He was terrific at what he did, a rock. Once you got a reputation for reliability, clients came to you. "Eh-eh!"
"Now what, hon?"
Karen's voice rose and one of the three men in the corner glanced over. The thin one, the one who seemed to be the leader. Definitely saurian. Mr. Salamander. He wore a light gray suit and a black shirt open at the neck, the long-point collars spread over wide jacket lapels. His dirty blond hair was slicked back and he wasn't bad looking, if you went for reptiles. Now he was smiling.
But not at Zoe. Zoe's back was to him.
At Karen and not a what-a-cute-baby smile.
Karen turned away, catching the waiter's eye and looking down at her plate. The thin man waved and the waiter went over and disappeared into the kitchen again. The thin man was still looking at her.
Amused. Confident.
Mr. Stud. And her with a baby! Classy place. Time to finish up and get out of there.
But Zoe was busy with something new, little face turning beet-red, hands clenched, eyes bulging.
"Great," said Karen, ignoring the thin man but certain he was still giving her the once-over. Then she softened her tone, not wanting to give Zoe any complexes. "That's fine, honey. Poop to your heart's content, make a nice big one for Mommy."
Moments later the deed was done and Zoe was scooping up pasta again and hurling it.
"That's it, young lady, time to clean you up and go meet Daddy."
"Eh-eh."
"No more eh-eh, change-change." Standing, Karen undid the straps of the high chair and lifted Zoe out, sniffing.
"Definitely time to change you."
But Zoe had other ideas and she began to kick and fuss. Holding the baby under one arm, like an oversized football, Karen lifted the gigantic denim bag that now took the place of the calf-leather purse Doug had given her, and walked over to the bar where the waiter stood polishing glasses and sucking his teeth.
He continued to ignore them even when Karen and Zoe were two feet away.
"Excuse me, sir."
One heavy black eyebrow cocked.
"Where's your ladies' room?"
Wet brown eyes ran over Karen's body like dirty oil, then Zoe's. Definitely a creep.
He licked his lips. A crooked thumb indicated the back of the restaurant.
Right past the booth with Lizard and his pals.
Taking a deep breath and staring straight ahead, Karen marched, swinging the big bag. God, it was heavy. All the stuff you had to carry.
The three men stopped talking as she walked by. Someone chuckled.
Lizard cleared his throat and said, "Cute kid," in a nasal voice full of locker-room glee.
More laughter.
Karen pushed through the door.
She emerged a few minutes later, having wrestled Zoe to a three-round decision. In one of Zoe's hands was the cow-rattle Karen employed to take Zoe's mind off diaper-changing.
Let's hear it for distraction.
Forced to pass the three men, Karen stared straight ahead but managed to see what they were eating. Double-cut veal chops, bone and gristle and meat spread out over huge plates. Some poor calf had been confined and force-fed and butchered so these three creeps could stuff their faces.
Lizard said, "Very cute." The other two laughed and Karen knew he hadn't meant Zoe.