Free Irish Coffee by Ralph McInerny Page B

into a further bibulous phase, from argumentative to sentimental. It was not welcome. He decided to tell Fred what a wonderful sister he had.
    â€œIt’s why I never married. Where could I find someone like her?”
    â€œOh, Tom.”
    He did not mimic her. She almost wished he had. He became moist-eyed, reminding her of their idyllic childhood, about their sainted mother. Throughout all this, Naomi had avoided meeting Fred’s eyes. She knew what his reaction must be. The talk about marriage was too much. She went off to the Ladies and stared at her face in the mirror. She saw there a woman in the cruel position of having to choose between her favorite brother—and there was, after all, Tom sober to offset the awfulness of Tom drunk—and Fred Neville. But did she have the choice after this? Fred had been attentive, he obviously liked her, but what would he think of any future that involved a relationship with Tom?
    But when she returned to the table, Tom had entered into the final, good-humored endearing stage. He and Fred were in happy conversation. They had agreed on the immortal status of Joe Paterno, which was insufficiently acknowledged by the sportswriting fraternity. “And sorority,” Tom added as she joined them.
    If it were only this final effect drink had on Tom, Naomi would have welcomed his drinking. The evening ended on a high note.
    â€œLet’s have an Irish coffee,” Tom said.
    It seemed a peace offering. They all three had Irish coffee, a drink Naomi liked about as much as she liked eggnog. Outside, they put Tom in a cab and Naomi turned to face Fred.
    â€œThat wasn’t what I planned,” she said.
    â€œIt was fun,” he said, his tone false.
    â€œI’ll make it up to you.” Impulsively, she lifted her face and kissed him. Almost to her surprise, he took her in his arms in a crushing embrace and pressed his lips more firmly on hers.
    If that dinner with Tom had been the result of a plan, it would have been successful so far as its ultimate outcome. They ended up at her suite where a somewhat woozy Fred, collapsed in a chair, took off his tie and kicked off his shoes.
    â€œI haven’t had that much to drink in a long time.”
    â€œMe either. Or is it, neither have I? Or is it, can I get you anything?”
    He had put back his head and his eyes were at half-mast.
    â€œDon’t fall asleep!”
    â€œI don’t even remember driving here.”
    Naomi looked down at him in silence. Then she took his hands, heaved him to his feet, and led him down the hall to the bedroom.
    Â 
    During the week, she got a call from Tom.
    â€œI hope you’re not serious about that guy.”
    â€œI’m surprised you remember him.”
    â€œYou better forget him too.”

8
    WHEN PHIL SUGGESTED THAT the three of them have lunch on campus while they talked, Mary frowned.
    â€œI’d like to get away, if you don’t mind.”
    Perhaps she did not want those she worked with to see her being interviewed by the police.
    Jimmy Stewart said, “I’m surprised you came to work.”
    â€œIt was either that or stay home.”
    â€œI talked with your mother this morning.”
    â€œOh, Lord.” She looked at Phil, as if he would understand the remark. Was she referring to her mother’s clumsy efforts to pair herself and Phil?
    Jimmy Stewart suggested the Mikado on 31, a splendid restaurant that had not yet been discovered by avid lunch goers. The menu was varied, the service suggestive of geisha deference, the dining room a clean well-lighted place. Phil’s serving of chicken-fried rice drew a gasp from Mary.
    â€œYou could feed an army with all that.”
    She herself settled for tea and soup and salad. Stewart’s rivaled Phil’s in quantity and consisted of a series of courses. Phil unwrapped his chopsticks and began to wield them with great dexterity.
    â€œOr a navy,” Phil said.
    Their meals