the sound of his name.
“Listen, it looks like I left my purse in the car.” She pointed outside. “I can run back and get it if you give me your keys. Or can you cover it, and I’ll pay you back?”
Press pushed toward her, shaking his head wearily. “I don’t have any cash, but I suppose I could use my debit card.”
“That’s all right, Press,” Angie said reassuringly as she reached his side. She motioned for Carlos to vacate his post at the register. “I know you’re good for it. You can pay me some other time.” She waited as her assistant raised the flap in the counter for her to come across.
“Please, allow me.” Vic pulled out two twenties. “Just add it to my bill. A meatball hoagie with hot sauce, side of fries and—” he raised his eyebrows at Mimi “—and one bottle of water—large and extremely wet.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll just run back to the car. It’s only across the street,” Mimi insisted. She waved away his hand.
He squeezed closer to the cash register. “She’d give you the shirt off her back—and trust me, I’ve seen her do it. But it’s probably faster if I take care of this.” He kept his arm outstretched with the bills.
Mimi nudged him away with her elbow. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She turned to Angie. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”
“Will someone make up their mind?” Press asked behind them.
Mimi and Vic turned their heads, she clockwise, he counterclockwise. Mimi raised her eyes. Vic lowered his. His nose almost grazed her forehead.
The cash register drawer opened with a loud ding.
Mimi and Vic turned back, she—lowering her head slightly, he—pulling back ever so much.
Angie reached out for Vic’s twenties and deposited the correct change in his hand at the same time. “Okay, big boy, let’s keep the line moving. We’ll call you when your orders are ready,” she said smartly, all five foot two of her substantial body imposing itself. One did not argue with Angie.
Needless to say, Mimi and Vic shuffled to the side and hovered as inconspicuously as possible against the side wall. Mimi pretended to look at the snapshots of patrons wearing Hoagie Palace T-shirts in places like Machu Picchu and the Parthenon in Greece. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Vic pocket his wallet and fold his arms across his chest.
Press sidled over and popped his can of Palmer iced tea. He eyed Vic skeptically. “Hey, do I know you?”
Vic uncrossed his arms. “Vic. Vic Golinski. I was a classmate of Mimi’s at the university.” He held out his hand to shake Press’s.
Mimi glanced over. “Oh, sorry. Vic, this is my half-brother, Press Lodge. He’s a Grantham grad, too,” Mimi said. Press might be almost as tall as Vic, but Vic had about sixty more pounds of muscle on him.
“Hi, there.” Press went through the handshake motions, then scratched his head. “Wait a minute. You used to play pro football, right?”
“Briefly.”
“I remember seeing you play at the Meadowlands.”
Mimi looked at Press. “You went to a game? With Dad?”
“No, of course not with Dad. It was a birthday party or something, and someone else’s parents took me.” He narrowed his eyes and considered Vic. “Yeah, I’m sure of it. It was a game against the Giants. There was this head-butting incident. And you were involved in it. Am I right?”
He shrugged. “That’s so long ago, it’s ancient history.”
“No, no.” Mimi shook her head. “Even I recall something about it. I mean, I was in Kuwait at the time, and the Armed Forces Radio was going bananas over this flagrant foul.” She looked at Vic. “I remember it being totally out of the blue. And it sounded absolutely malicious. Were you badly hurt?”
“Oh, darling sister of mine—” Press chimed in, sounding pretty pleased with himself “—before you offer any after-the-fact consoling, I do believe your buddy here was doing the butting, not the player on the receiving
“Listen, it looks like I left my purse in the car.” She pointed outside. “I can run back and get it if you give me your keys. Or can you cover it, and I’ll pay you back?”
Press pushed toward her, shaking his head wearily. “I don’t have any cash, but I suppose I could use my debit card.”
“That’s all right, Press,” Angie said reassuringly as she reached his side. She motioned for Carlos to vacate his post at the register. “I know you’re good for it. You can pay me some other time.” She waited as her assistant raised the flap in the counter for her to come across.
“Please, allow me.” Vic pulled out two twenties. “Just add it to my bill. A meatball hoagie with hot sauce, side of fries and—” he raised his eyebrows at Mimi “—and one bottle of water—large and extremely wet.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll just run back to the car. It’s only across the street,” Mimi insisted. She waved away his hand.
He squeezed closer to the cash register. “She’d give you the shirt off her back—and trust me, I’ve seen her do it. But it’s probably faster if I take care of this.” He kept his arm outstretched with the bills.
Mimi nudged him away with her elbow. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She turned to Angie. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”
“Will someone make up their mind?” Press asked behind them.
Mimi and Vic turned their heads, she clockwise, he counterclockwise. Mimi raised her eyes. Vic lowered his. His nose almost grazed her forehead.
The cash register drawer opened with a loud ding.
Mimi and Vic turned back, she—lowering her head slightly, he—pulling back ever so much.
Angie reached out for Vic’s twenties and deposited the correct change in his hand at the same time. “Okay, big boy, let’s keep the line moving. We’ll call you when your orders are ready,” she said smartly, all five foot two of her substantial body imposing itself. One did not argue with Angie.
Needless to say, Mimi and Vic shuffled to the side and hovered as inconspicuously as possible against the side wall. Mimi pretended to look at the snapshots of patrons wearing Hoagie Palace T-shirts in places like Machu Picchu and the Parthenon in Greece. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Vic pocket his wallet and fold his arms across his chest.
Press sidled over and popped his can of Palmer iced tea. He eyed Vic skeptically. “Hey, do I know you?”
Vic uncrossed his arms. “Vic. Vic Golinski. I was a classmate of Mimi’s at the university.” He held out his hand to shake Press’s.
Mimi glanced over. “Oh, sorry. Vic, this is my half-brother, Press Lodge. He’s a Grantham grad, too,” Mimi said. Press might be almost as tall as Vic, but Vic had about sixty more pounds of muscle on him.
“Hi, there.” Press went through the handshake motions, then scratched his head. “Wait a minute. You used to play pro football, right?”
“Briefly.”
“I remember seeing you play at the Meadowlands.”
Mimi looked at Press. “You went to a game? With Dad?”
“No, of course not with Dad. It was a birthday party or something, and someone else’s parents took me.” He narrowed his eyes and considered Vic. “Yeah, I’m sure of it. It was a game against the Giants. There was this head-butting incident. And you were involved in it. Am I right?”
He shrugged. “That’s so long ago, it’s ancient history.”
“No, no.” Mimi shook her head. “Even I recall something about it. I mean, I was in Kuwait at the time, and the Armed Forces Radio was going bananas over this flagrant foul.” She looked at Vic. “I remember it being totally out of the blue. And it sounded absolutely malicious. Were you badly hurt?”
“Oh, darling sister of mine—” Press chimed in, sounding pretty pleased with himself “—before you offer any after-the-fact consoling, I do believe your buddy here was doing the butting, not the player on the receiving
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