Page 5 of The Happy Month
Edwin looked at me and began, “I suppose you’re wondering why I asked you?—”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, can’t you wait until my drink gets here?” Jan said, leading us into an uncomfortable silence.
Lydia broke it by talking about the Wilkes case. As soon as she mentioned that Larry was gay and was accused of killing his lover, Jan interrupted.
“Why would you take a case like that?”
“Because I think the man is innocent.”
“He may not have killed anyone, but he’s certainly not innocent.”
“I have the feeling if I restricted myself to clients you approved of I wouldn’t be very busy at all,” Lydia said. A very polite way to call him a bigot.
The drinks arrived. The waiter set Jan’s down first, and he drank almost half of it in one gulp. Lydia said to the waiter, “You know, I’ve changed my mind. I’ll have a glass of wine, red, Pinot if you have it.”
The waiter left and Edwin tried again. “Well, the reason I’ve asked you?—”
“What exactly are your qualifications?” Jan asked me.
Before I could say anything, Edwin said, “John, I asked you to be open to this process.”
“I am open. Why would I ask a question like that if I wasn’t open?”
“You know, I can make this easier,” I said. “The answer is no.”
“What do you mean the answer is no?” Jan said. “We haven’t offered you a job yet.”
“I have a job. I don’t want another one.”
“Well, now that that’s settled,” Lydia said, looking down at her menu. “The calamari is excellent.”
“Nothing’s settled. I asked your man a question and he didn’t answer it. What are his qualifications?”
“His work for us at The Freedom Agenda has been exemplary,” Edwin said. “I recommend him, Lydia recommends him. That should be enough for you.”
“You know I’d rather go with Harmon and Coyne.”
“Because you’re friendly with Buddy Coyne who has the biggest mouth on the Westside.”
“He wouldn’t say a word, he’s very discreet.”
“John, you know that’s not true.”
“None of this matters. I’ve already said no,” I pointed out.
“You don’t get to say no to us,” Jan said. “We say no. You don’t.”
“Actually, he does get to say no,” Lydia pointed out.
At that point, Edwin and Jan slipped into Polish. I have a little Polish. My grandparents spoke it at home and forced both my parents to. I can follow simple conversations. Mostly, I know when I’m being cursed at. I let them go on for a minute or two, then said, “Glupi dupek,” which means something like stupid asshole. I didn’t know how to make it plural.
The stared at me.
“Reilly is an Irish name. Why do you know Polish?” Jan asked.
“I grew up in a Polish neighborhood in Detroit.”
I prayed that Detroit had a Polish neighborhood and that neither of them knew anything about it. Like for instance what it was called.
