mine.
Susan raised her glass and said, "To us." We clinked and drank. The corners of Susan's eyes were crinkled with amusement.
"I can't tell you," she said, "how out of place you two look in here."
"Not our fault we big," Hawk said.
"Of course not," Susan said. "Have you seen pictures of Pearl?"
"Not yet," Hawk said.
Susan rummaged in her purse. Which was quite tricky, since the purse wasn't much bigger than a postcard. She was wearing a white suit with gold braid and epaulets, and she seemed, as she always did, to occupy the center of the room. Everything else seemed to group around her and be ordered by her, like a jar in Tennessee. When you were with Susan you could remain anonymous. No one would notice you.
Even Hawk was less apparent when he was with Susan.
Tonight he was all in black. Suit, shirt, tie. I was even more daring in a blue blazer, tan slacks, a white oxford button-down shirt, and a maroon tie with tiny white dots in it.
"You the world's oldest preppie," Hawk said to me. "You got on wing-tipped cordovans?"
"Like hell," I said and stuck my foot out so he could check the loafers.
"Note the stunning little kiltie, as well as the hint of a tassel."
"Probably got an argyle gun," Hawk said.
"In a chino holster," I said. "With a little belt in the back."
Susan found her folder of pictures of Pearl and put them on the table in front of Hawk. He looked at them silently as Susan provided commentary.
"There she is her first day with us," Susan said. "And there she is with her ball. There she is on the bed with himself."
Hawk looked at me. "A dog?" he said.
I shrugged. "I like dogs," I said.
Hawk nodded. "Sure you do. Known that long as I've known you."
We were silent for a moment, looking at the menu. The waiter appeared. We ordered. The waiter departed.
"How long have you known him?" Susan said to Hawk.
Hawk grinned. "You remember?" he said to me.
"Shouldn't smile like that," I said. "Spoils the monochromatic look."
"Whites of my eyes a problem there, too," Hawk said.
"Do you remember?" Susan said to me.
"Sure. We were fighting a prelim at the Arena."
"We on the card so early, the ushers still dusting off the seats," Hawk said.
"The Arena? That's not the Garden."
"No, the Boston Arena. These days it's a hockey rink. All cleaned up and presentable. Northeastern University owns it now."
"Did you fight each other in this preliminary bout?" Susan said.
"Yeah," I said.
"Well?" Susan said.
"Well what?" I said.
"Hawk?" Susan said.
Hawk looked at her and smiled and raised his eyebrows.
"What?" he said.
"Who won?" Susan said.
"I did," we both said simultaneously.
Susan stared at us for a moment and then smiled. "Of course you did," she said.
"Mostly white fighters in Boston in those days," Hawk said.
"Hawk was the great black hope," I said.
"Night me and Spenser fought, lotta people didn't like a black fighter on the card."
The first course arrived. The waiter put it down and then refreshed our champagne glasses.
"After, ah, one of us won the fight," Hawk said, "I got cleaned up and dressed and I'm coming out of the Arena and I run into a group of young white guys. They drunk. Lot of people go to the fights at the Arena are drunk. And one of them spoke loudly, and unkindly of… I believe the phrase was jigaboos. At which I took some offense."
"How many were there?" Susan said.
"Enough so they brave," Hawk said. "Six, maybe, eight. Anyway, ah expressed my resentment to the guy who had called me a jigaboo, and it caused him to spit out some of his front teeth. And so his friends jump in. Normally me against eight drunks is probably about even. But I'm a little winded from fighting your friend, and winning-"
"Losing," I said.
"And I'm beginning to give a little ground when Spenser comes out and sees the fight and jumps in on my side and their side calls him a nigger lover and Spenser throw him through a window."
"Open?" Susan said.
"No."
Susan winced.
"Who won?" Susan said. I