Walk the Blue Fields by Claire Keegan Page B

He never really knows what’s going through her mind.
    â€˜You play your cards right and this could all be yours some day.’ She gestures to the complex. The gesture is reflected, from different angles, in the mirrored room behind her. ‘You wonder why I married him but I was thinking of you, all along.’
    â€˜Mom, I don’t –’ her son begins but just then the millionaire comes out with a lighted cigar and blows a mouthful of smoke into the night. He’s a plain man with an Italian suit and the whitest teeth money can buy.
    â€˜You all ready? I could eat a small child,’ he says.
    They take the elevator to the ground floor where a porter opens the front door. Another man, in a gold-braided uniform , brings round the car. The millionaire tips him and gets in behind the driver’s seat even though the restaurant is less than a ten-minute walk along the strand.
    When they reach Leonardo’s, the owner greets them, shakes his stepfather’s hand. There’s a palm tree growing in the middle of the restaurant with a parrot chained to one of its branches. They are escorted to a table under the chandelier . Yellow light spills over the white cloth and cello music is coming out of the walls. A basket of bread is laid out, butter, a selection of shellfish on a wooden board. His stepfather reaches for an oyster, loosens it with his knife and swallows it. His mother picks up a fat shrimp as the maître d’, a thin man with dark brown skin, appears.
    â€˜How may I help you this evening?’
    His stepfather orders the wine and tells him to bring out the champagne.
    â€˜Did you hear about this guy Clinton? Says if he’s elected President he’s gonna let queers into the military,’ he says. ‘What do you think of that, Harvard?’
    â€˜Richard!’ his mother says.
    â€˜It’s OK, Mom. Well, I don’t think the tradition of –’
    â€˜What’s next? Lesbians coaching the swim team, running for the Senate?’
    â€˜Richard!’
    â€˜What kind of defence would that be? A bunch of queers! We didn’t win two World Wars that way. I don’tknow what this country is turning into.’
    Smells of horseradish and dill spill out from the kitchen. Alobster has got loose in the tank but the waiter dips a net into the water and snaps a thick elastic band around his claws.
    â€˜No more politics,’ his mother says. ‘It’s my boy’s night. He got a 3.75 grade point average last semester. Now what do you think of that, Richard?’
    â€˜3.75? Not bad.’
    â€˜Not bad? Well, I should say not! He’s top of his class!’
    â€˜Mom.’
    â€˜No, I won’t be hushed up this time! He’s top of the class, and he’s twenty-one years old today! A grown man. Let’s have a toast.’
    â€˜Now there’s an idea,’ says the millionaire.
    He pours champagne into the flutes. The glasses fizz up but he waits for the contents to settle.
    â€˜Here’s to the brightest young man in the whole state of Texas,’ he says.
    They are smiling now, suddenly at ease. There is a chance that this dinner will not be like the others.
    â€˜â€¦ and to not having queers in the military!’
    The mother’s smile capsizes. ‘Goddamn, Richard!’
    She raises her hands. As her hands move, her son realises how beautiful her diamonds are.
    â€˜What’s the matter? It’s just a little joke,’ her husband says. ‘Doesn’t anybody round here know how to take a joke any more?’
    The waiter arrives with a steel tray, and the entrées. Turbot for the lady, salmon for the young man and a lobster .
    The millionaire ties the bib around his neck, takes the pincers and breaks open the lobster’s claw.
    â€˜There must be some fine women up there at Harvard,’ he says, picking out the meat. ‘Some real knock-outs.’
    â€˜They accept us on the basis of