Page 118 of The Holy Grail
“Don Corleone? As inThe Godfather?” Evan asked. “You named your female cat after the male head of a mafia crime family?”
Malcom nodded as he turned around and picked up his wine glass and took a sip. “I thought she was male and—”
“You could have just looked between her legs. Boys and girls do look different, you know.”
“Yes, I know, but even if I’d been inclined, she never would’ve let me get that close in the beginning. And she was a stone-cold killer, so it seemed like she was a ‘he’.”
Evan slid his eyes over to Jules as he mused dryly, “A lot of females can be stone-cold killers.”
Malcom hid his amusement at the comment, not wanting Jules to see it, because that would be bad for business. “Anyway, Jules was kind enough to set me straight on the sex of my cat and immediately changed the name to D-A-W-N Corleone.”
“Hmm, clever,” Evan said, scratching his new friend behind her ears, earning some enthusiastic purring in return. “I think she likes me.” Then, switching gears, he asked, “So, what’s for dinner?”
“Eggplant Parmesan, with steamed broccoli and a Caesar salad on the side.”
“His salads are really good,” Jules told Evan. “I mean, everything he makes is amazing, but his salads are worth eating, too.”
“Okay. I’m not a big salad eater, but I’ll give it a try.”
“It should be ready in about ten minutes,” Malcom said, as Jules began pulling plates out of a cabinet, clearly knowing her way around the kitchen.
Since he obviously wasn’t needed at the moment, Evan decided to pretend like he wasn’t feeling awkward and wander around. With a glass of wine in one hand, he figured some company wouldn’t hurt, so he picked the cat up with the other hand, using his palm and forearm to support her body from underneath, and holding her against his side, leaving her legs to dangle. Surprisingly, she seemed content to be held in such a manner, so Evan started a lap around the living room.
The first thing he saw was the framed movie poster forThe Godfather, and he immediately stopped and admired it. “That’s really nice,” he said to Dawn Corleone. “But I think mine is better because in that one, Brando’s holding a cat.”
There weren’t any other pictures or artwork on the walls to look at, but there was a normal amount of furniture, which was good, along with what turned out to be a decent vinyl collection. Immediately interested, he set his wine down in order to thumb through the albums, all the while keeping up a conversation with Dawn Corleone.
“As far as collections go, this one isn’t bad,” he said, estimating there to be five hundred or more records, although they were in complete disarray. “It needs to be organized, though, because what the hell? Johnny Cash next to Led Zeppelin? What’s going on here? I mean, I know it would take some time, but it’s not like your owner has a bunch of furniture to dust, eating up all his spare time, right?” he asked Dawn Corleone, who gave a low meow. Shaking his head, Evan continued. “So, who’s your favorite band? The Stray Cats? Sorry, I know that was low hanging fruit, but sometimes you’ve got to pick it. Maybe the Pussy Cat Dolls? Again, sorry. Josie and the Pussycats? I know, they weren’t a real band, but you wouldn’t know that …” he trailed off as he came across John Cougar’s self-titled albumJohn Cougar.“Here we go. John Cougar before he added the ‘Mellencamp’, which is a terrible last name, if we’re being honest. Not a bad singer, though. How about Cat Stevens? No? Yeah, I’m not a fan, either. Same goes for White Lion. Maybe the Cheetah Girls? Or Atomic Kitten?” At another low meow, Evan said, “You like them? Yeah, they’re not bad …” he trailed off again as he sawPyromaniaand pulled it out. “Now this is a band I think you’d really like. Good music, great in concert, and their drummer only has one arm. He used to have two, but then … car accident. Did you know that? Yeah, I didn’t think so, since it was way before your time. Anyway, Def Leppard should be your go-to, if you’re looking for recommendations,” he said, showing it to Dawn Corleone one more time before putting it back.
To Evan’s amusement, the record right behind it was Donna Summer’sBad Girls.He immediately picked it up with a grin, and that’s how Jules found him when she came to a stop next to him.
“Dinner’s ready,” she announced.
He tilted the record her way. “And you said you weren’t sure if there were any signs Mal was bisexual,” he murmured.
She pursed her lips together for a moment. “I said there was nothing ‘concrete’.”
“Well, this is what you’d call ‘concrete’,” he said dryly, setting it back into its slot.
With the cat still perched on his arm, Evan grabbed his wine glass and followed Jules to the table, which was set with nice plates, sparkling silverware, and cloth napkins. As they all sat down and began eating, Evan felt a tug of hope, that vicious bitch trying tosink her claws in him and make him think this could become an ordinary day in his life, having dinner with these two people.
Sharing a life with them.
“I’m not usually a big eggplant fan, except for the emoji,” Evan said, forcing the conversation in a casual direction. “This is delicious, though.”
Malcom smiled. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t know you … cooked.”
“Well, it never came up ... before.”
Evan took another bite and made a sound of appreciation. “Gwen was a lucky woman. And a really stupid one, too … but I guess her stupidity was a gift to you in the end,” he added, before nodding his head toward Jules.
“I certainly think so,” Jules said. “But I’m biased.”
While they ate, with Dawn Corleone watching from the other end of the table, the conversation mostly revolved around Malcom not being a good lawyer and his dream of having his own restaurant one day with a ‘scratch’ kitchen.
“Where every meal feels like a feast?” Evan wanted to know. “Like this?”
