Free Change of Heart by Sally Mandel Page A

Walter glared at their entwined fingers as if they were a pile of worms the chef was trying to pass off as spaghetti. Sharlie tried to slip her hand away, but Brian gripped it hard. She looked at him in surprise as he returned Walter’s gaze.
    â€œA lawyer, eh?” Walter said suddenly, the deep voice startling after his long, wary silence. Brian nodded. “I hear you specialize in bleeding hearts.” Brian smiled pleasantly, but said nothing.
    Undaunted, Walter poured the last of the wine for Margaret, Brian, and himself, then took two swallows from his glass. The silence seemed intolerable to Sharlie, and her eyes pleaded with Brian to say something. Anything. Finally Walter aimed his gaze at Brian again and said, “What about this legislation letting the gay boys into city government?”
    â€œIt’ll be close.”
    â€œYou think the fags’ll win?”
    â€œI hope so.”
    Walter glared into Brian’s unwavering eyes. “You think it’s just dandy for homosexuals to teach in the public school system?”
    â€œI don’t think the public school system is dandy for anybody,” Brian said. He sat comfortably, his shoulders relaxed against the back of his chair, but Sharlie recognized the tension along his jaw. He never once took his eyes off her father, and she knew he was thinking, Enjoy yourself now, because one of these days, I’m going to get your ass.
    Walter signaled to the waiter and listened impatiently to a translation of zuppa inglese. Finally Brian said, “Think you can scare up a piece of apple pie with a scoop of vanilla?”
    The waiter looked pained and said he’d see what he could do. Walter called after the stiff retreating back.
    â€œMake that two, will you?”
    Sharlie gave Brian’s foot a quick rap under the table. On the phone with him this afternoon, she’d agonized about Walter’s restaurant behavior. No matter how elegant the cuisine, her father inevitably ordered apple pie for dessert. Walter’s mutilation of foreign languages was legendary, and Sharlie suspected his mastery of the phrase à la mode made him feel dashingly continental.
    Brian ignored the kick and said to Walter, “I understand you’ve met my boss.”
    Walter said, “Way back in the days when she was Barbara Krumberg.”
    â€œKahanian,” said Brian evenly.
    â€œYeah,” said Walter. “Whatever. Very bright girl, but she’s got a few wires loose.” He looked at Brian for a response, but getting none, he continued. “She could be the first lady mayor of New York. I told her that myself.”
    â€œShe’d make a good one.”
    Walter snorted. “Jesus Christ, we’ve got freaks up to our asses around here as it is. With that wild woman at the helm, they’d be air-dropping them in from the West Coast.”
    He stopped for breath, and Margaret remarked, “You’re mixing your military metaphors, dear. Helm is naval.…”
    Walter’s eyes didn’t waver from Brian’s. “Why doesn’t she try Los Angeles? California’s got the greatest collection of loonies and misfits per square foot. She ought to win by a landslide.”
    He draped an arm over the back of his chair. Sharlie caught a glimpse of the damp stain at his armpit. Her fingers were beginning to ache from the pressure of Brian’s grip, but she said lightly, “Well, Daddy, pretty soon the whole state’s going to slide right into the Pacific Ocean.”
    Walter muttered dubiously, “No loss as far as I’m concerned.”
    â€œBut what about San Clemente?” asked Margaret “Isn’t that somewhere—”
    â€œOh, Christ, Margaret. Sometimes you astound me.”
    â€œWell …” she began defensively, her eyes starting to water. “You sound so negative about California, and I know there are places out there … why, you adore Palm