Dinner at the Wayfare

“Leidesdorff isn’t a stupid name. Leidesdorff is a kickass name,” said Robert.

“No,” said Mallory.

“Do you know anything about William Leidesdorff?” asked Robert.

“Why the hell would I know anything about William Leidadorffer?”

“Because he’s more interesting than you. William Leidesdorff was a part Carib, part Danish, part Jewish guy from St. Croix. In the mid-1800s, he moved to New Orleans and became a U.S. citizen. Then he moved to California, which was still Mexico at the time, proceeded to dominate, and became a titan of industry and what not. He is the perfect Californian: a European-Caribbean-Jewish-Mexican American.”

“Do you have a fever?” asked Mallory.

“No. Fuck this place. I looked it up on Wikipedia last week so I could impress some clients. That’s who I am now.”

“This place is sweet,” said Mallory, looking around the Wayfare Tavern. “What do you mean fuck this place? There’s cool hunting shit all over, and the kitchen’s all Top-Chefy.”

“Not this pace, dumbass. This place as in figuratively. This place. Where I am. What I do.”

“You need another drink, brother,” said Mallory, noting the faint tint of crazy at the edges of Robert’s eyes.

“I need another drink,” agreed Robert.

Mallory’s eyes glazed over as a notably beautiful server plopped delicious popover bread things on the table. “Hey, Robert. What if Padma walked in? That would be awesome.”

“What if Michael Voltaggio walked in?”

“What if…nope, I’m out of Top Chef hot chicks.”

“I could keep going. You have absurd standards, Mal,” said Robert, tearing into a popover thing.

“How’re you and Jonathan?”

“Good. Whatever. Same as always.”

“That good, huh?” Mallory liked Jonathan, but had a strong suspicion Robert would get tired of dating an out of work archivist, whatever that was.

“Actually, yeah. Things are really good. The novelty’s over, but it’s kind of nice being comfortable with someone.”

“Do people still ask you about your girlfriends and shit. Work people? Clients?”

“Yup,” said Robert.

“You’re pretty fucking hetero.”

“I’m pretty fucking gay, Mal.”

“Yeah, you know what I mean though. You don’t act gay.”

“You mean I don’t like musicals?”

“Well, yeah. That’s a pretty good example,” said Mallory, realizing he was being an idiot.

“You spent too much time in the South, little brother,” said Robert, used to ignoring the minor slights that peppered his existence. Who pays on a date? You don’t sound gay? I’m open-minded. I can joke about this stuff. He didn’t feel that way about Mallory though. Mallory and Zack were cool. So was his dad. So was his mom. It was probably for the better that grandpa wasn’t around though.

“I lived in Nashville,” said Mallory.

“So.”

“That’s not really the South like you’re thinking.”

“Whatever.” Robert finished his popover and grabbed Mallory’s. “Bother tax.”

“Is it weird dating a guy with the same name as your dad?”

“Jonathan is named Jonathan. Dad is named John,” replied Robert, way too defensively.

“Jesus, Rob. Lighten up.”

The waitress came with a Ketel on the rocks for Robert and a highball for Mal.

“See. I told you. You seem like way less of a douche ordering highballs instead of Seven and Sevens. The waitress thinks you’re sophisticated,” said Robert.

“I’m not really worried about what people think, corporate guy.”

“Why’d you order a highball then? And fuck off about the corporate thing. You’re getting an MBA.”

“So. I ordered a highball because it has ball in the name and I thought I might craft a joke around it at some point.”

“Craft a joke,” said Robert, rolling his eyes.

“I sure do love drinking those highballs. Mmm, mm. Balls. Balls in my mouth.”

“You sound like Zack.”

The two brothers sat quietly and watched powerful people eat expensive food for a minute or so.

Mallory broke the silence. “What’re we gonna’ do about him, Rob?”

“I can’t believe he got Secret clearance,” said Robert.

“123 GT. Even better APFT,” said Mallory. I knew he was athletic, but apparently he isn’t an idiot.”

“Did he cycle off finally? Does the Army drug test?” asked Robert.

“I don’t know.”

“No Mal. Seriously,” said Robert, pounding the table. “Did he cycle off? They’ll put him in the brig.”

“Does the Army say brig, or just the Navy?” asked Mallory.

“Focus, Mal. Focus,” said Robert, snapping his fingers in Mallory’s face.

“And it’s nautical. Who cares? You know what I mean.”

“Zack cycled off a long time ago. He must have. He’s skinnier than me now,” said Mallory. Rob’s bacon wrapped filet and Mallory’s LeGrand came. Mallory suspected Rob was right about the waitress, but Mallory was also self-aware enough to know that he eventually thought everybody was into him.

“You ordered a burger,” laughed Rob.

“Not just any burger, a LeGrand,” said Mallory.

“Alright burger boy.”

“Ronnie’s gonna’ be so pissed.”

“How is Ronnie?” asked Robert, cutting into his steak.

“He works with Colton Jennings. How do you think he is?”

“Colton’s a pig,” said Robert.

“Yup. Worst guy I’ve ever met,” said Mallory. “Ronnie’s okay. Not gonna’ last much longer.”

“What’s he got planned?”

“He’s doing it.”

“For real?” asked Robert through a mouthful of beef and bacon.

“CIA. Gonna’ be up in Napa for a while. We can visit. Take some of your stooge clients. Go wine tasting.”

“Chef Hilliard. Nice,” said Robert, ignoring Mallory’s cheap shot.

“Yup.” Mallory finally took a bite of his LeGrand. “Oh shit. This is fucking good.”

“Of course it’s good.”

“No mufuggha, i’s fughin good.” Mallory was speaking with his mouth full.

“Mal, you’re a work in progress.” Robert looked around and went silent again. After about a minute, he said, “We swear too much.”

“Mmmm hmmm,” replied Mallory, mouth still full.

“Hey, here comes your girl, Mal. I’m gonna’ order something good.”

“My girl?”

“Yeah, the waitress. You like her, right?”

“I dunno.”

Robert looked at the waitress and asked, “Can you recommend a good whiskey?” Then he looked at Mal and asked, “You can crash at my place, right?”

“Scotch, bourbon, rye?” she asked, staying focused on Robert.

“Um, rye,” said Robert.

“Pritchard’s? Maybe Leopold Brothers. Do you like a sweeter whiskey? Smokey?"

“Pritchard’s for the both of us,” said Robert, realizing he was over his head.

“Alright, sir.” She was off.

“She called me sir. Kind of a trip, right?”

“Kind of a trip,” agreed Mallory. “You gonna’ Wikipedia whiskey later? You need work.”

“No shit,” said Robert. “Hey, see what I mean? She likes you.”

“She didn’t look at me once,” said Mallory.

“That doesn’t matter, Mal. She likes you.”

Mallory too a big bight of his LeGrand, shrugged, and said, “Wewsee.”

“What?” asked Robert. “You had your mouth full.

“Mallory swallowed and almost took another bight before looking up and saying, “We’ll see.”

“We’ll see,” said Robert.

The waitress came with a pair of double old fashioneds, two fingers of Pritchard’s neatly waiting in each. Mallory and Robert grabbed them greedily, raised them to the sky, and took big sips. “She likes you, Mal. I’m telling you.”

“I’ll wait for her to acknowledge my existence before I make my move.”

“Typical. Your’re gonna’ die alone,” said Robert.

“To a sad, solitary life,” boomed Mallory, raising his glass again. Robert did the same. They clinked and drank. The guys at the neighboring table, a couple of nondescript banker types, laughed. So did the waitress as she walked by. Mal didn’t notice.

He took a big swig, then went back to his LeGrand.