Draw Me A Picture (34 page)

Oscar looked after her then back at Michelle.

“Must have been some proposal,” he said, raising an eyebrow. Michelle nodded; she held out her hand with the ring on it. “Good grief, that’s a big rock,” her uncle said, frowning. “You’re gonna get mugged for sure.” Michelle held up her gloves.

“I wear these everywhere,” she explained. Oscar nodded.

“Smart girl,” he said. “Hungry?”

“Very much,” she said, smiling.

The walked a few blocks to Oscar's favorite restaurant; it turned out to be a trendy little Italian place frequented by many office professionals in the vicinity. The head waiter spied Oscar as the two breezed in the door and beckoned to the owner. A dark-haired man in his mid-forties jogged forward, dousing both guests with a benevolent smile. Nodding at the man Oscar turned to Michelle.

“Marco… this is my niece, Michelle,” he said, smiling. Marco's smiled grew even wider, showing off very bright teeth.

“Oh... you found her?” he said, enthusiastically. “Wonderful... wonderful!”

Michelle felt like laughing at the man's reaction. Quite a few people knew about her being ‘lost’; it was as if she’d had a phantom family the last two years and didn’t even know about it. “She’s recently become engaged,” Oscar continued. Michelle thought she heard just a hint of pride in his voice; a little sentimental emotion welled up in her.

The restaurant owner looked pleased.

“Good. Good! We will have a special dinner then? A celebration... you should bring him by also.”

“I will,” Michele said; she intended to. She hoped William would like this place, though she did not know if he even liked Italian food.

The owner himself led them though the main seating room; Michelle admired the cleanliness of the earth-toned tile floors and the whiter-than-white tablecloths. All then table were in the small bistro style, high off the floor with tall chairs. A fresh red rose in a thin, silver vase adorned each table; sunlight streamed in from large semi-circle windows set into the wall on three sides of the room. The atmosphere was light and fresh; perfect for enjoying the flavorful carnival that is Italian cuisine. They were not seated there but led up a wrought iron staircase that wound around to a second story and out onto a balcony that had been closed in with windows. A slightly larger table sat in the light; beside it potted rose bushes sat basking in the warmth of the fall sun, well guarded inside from the cold.

“Beautiful...” Michelle said, with her hand to her chest. Marco appeared pleased at her expression.

“Grazie,” he said, bowing slightly. He pulled a chair out for her and snapped her napkin with flair before laying it in her lap. Oscar pulled his own seat and tossed the napkin to the side. He looked up at Marco.

“I’m in the mood for lasagna,” he stated. The Italian considered this a moment.

“There are two,” he began. “One is vegan...” Oscar lifted a disapproving eyebrow. “The other has my grandmother’s handmade anise sausage, mushrooms and artichoke hearts.”

“That’s the one for me,” Oscar said, nodding. “I’ll have it with a doppio malto.” Marco nodded; he looked over at Michelle. She bit her lip.

“I know it must be very common to order this... but I love fettuccine Alfredo,” she said. Marco smiled.

“It is not ‘common’, carina,” he said, jovially. “A dish for which Italian cuisine is famous, no? You like the simple, good things. We have an Alfredo you would die to taste again.” Oscar laughed.

“Just bring us the food, Marco,” he said, grinning. The owner snorted.

“Does she want just water to drink?” he queried, gesturing towards Michelle.

“Have you ever had an Italian soda?” Oscar asked his niece. Michelle shook her head. “Bring her something that would go with Alfredo.” The owner gave a mocking bow and walked off, mumbling something to himself.

“I’ll risk sounding obvious and say you must come here a lot,” Michelle remarked. Oscar chuckled.

“Yeah,” he said, heaving a short sigh. He looked out the windows; the view was mainly of the tall buildings across the street, but one could also watch the people and cars below. “I come up here most; it’s private. I think they keep it for me ‘cause I tip way too much.” He looked over at Michelle; she was watching his face with a steady look in her eyes.

“I can see you want to ask me about something, Uncle,” she said, quietly. “Please don’t hesitate. Too much time has been lost between us to worry about offending one another.”

To her surprise, Oscar burst out laughing.

“That settles it.” he said, chuckling. “I know for sure you’re my niece.” He looked over and saw Michelle’s puzzled expression. “Gregory’s have the gift of frankness. It’s in our blood. Must be a Scottish thing... I dunno.” Michelle smiled a little and then sobered; his words sparked to memory a question that had formed in her mind since her uncle had come back into her life.

“If I may, sir... why did you change your last name?” she asked. Oscar's expression grew more serious at her words; he did not seem insulted by the question.

“I changed it before going into the military,” he answered, after a moment. “My dad didn’t like the idea of his oldest son joining the Marines. Vietnam was a bad word back then, you know. But, I was 18 and hot-headed... so, I had my name changed and joined up.”

Michelle leaned her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hands.

“Mom never said anything about that,” she said. “How long were you in the military?”

“Eight years active, four in the reserves,” Oscar replied, fiddling with a table napkin. “Once, I was assigned to guard at the US Embassy in London. Nice gig, no action… but one day a whole crew of contractors descended on the place from the States, doing a complete remodel. They worked like madmen. I’d never seen a project get done so fast. It impressed me and I decided when I got out of the service, I’d like to be in construction getting government contracts.”

“Wow,” was all Michelle could think of to say, at first; her uncle’s past seemed quite a whirl of activity. “So, after the military you worked in construction all those years, and then decided to switch careers again?” Oscar cleared his throat.

“Sort of,” he said, sitting up. “Having to hide from unstable rebel squads out for westerner blood was kind of a wake-up call. I do business now in democratic countries only.” Michelle smiled.

“I think you ought to write your life experiences down,” she said, affectionately. “It would be a riveting action adventure novel... better than Tom Clancy.” Chuckling, Oscar shook his head.

“No way,” he said. “I have all his books.”

Their lunch soon arrived; they could smell it several seconds before it even appeared. Michelle stomach rumbled, making her redden a little with embarrassment. If Oscar heard, he didn’t let on.

“Wow, that’s a lot of food...” Oscar said, as the waiter set down a white platter before him. The plate held a size-able slab of lasagna accompanied by fragrant garlic bread. The drink he ordered earlier turned out to be an Italian beer, which Marco poured with ceremony into a tall, chilled glass. Michelle’s bowl of noodles in white sauce smelled heavenly; beside her plate Marco set a slender glass of a light orange drink, filled with bubbles.

“Apricot soda,” Marco announced with a smile. “Enjoy! I will be back with more bread later.”

“He’s bringing more food?” Michelle asked, looking worried. “It would take me two days to eat just this.” Oscar nodded, looking down at his own plate.

“Don’t worry,” he said, picking up his fork. ”They expect you to take a bunch home.”

“It smells delicious,” Michelle said, inhaling the heady aroma of cheese-enhanced cream sauce.

The food tasted excellent. It took them both about forty minutes to eat only half their food. The fact that they kept talking during the meal probably didn’t hasten matters much. Michelle felt like she’d learned more about her Uncle in the last hour than she had in her whole life. His first law partner, Arthur Felix, had died some years earlier.

“He was a great lawyer,” Oscar said, in between bites. “The guy worked until he was well into his eighties. Taught me a lot about takeovers and didn't mind taking on a greenhorn like me as his partner. When he died, I kept the name of the company the same. Has a nice ring to it.”

“It does,” Michelle agreed. “I take it there are no other partners.” Her uncle shook his head.

“Nope.” Oscar paused to finish off his beer. “I’d like to keep it that way.”

Michelle ate for a minute in silence. Inwardly she wondered about this legal realm her uncle and fiancé were mixed up in. It seemed a rather desperate business, fraught with competition, uncertainty and constant variables. Despite this, however, both her uncle and William were respectable, hard-working men. Perhaps the television-enhanced stereotypes of lawyers were largely unfounded.

“So, you’re getting’ married in two weeks?” Oscar asked, cutting another bite of his lasagna. Michelle nodded, chewing her mouthful slowly; she wanted to have a bowl of these noodles every day for the rest of her life; it was that good.

“Yes,” she said, after swallowing. “I’m planning the wedding, myself; William’s mother has offered to help, but... I really want to do it my way.”

Oscar seemed to consider this a moment.

“So… you’re going to do the whole wedding yourself?” he asked; he looked over at his niece. She seemed perfectly serious.

“I am,” Michelle answered him, meeting his gaze. Her uncle was regarding her with a peculiar expression, like he didn’t believe her.

“I admit I’m curious how you would pay for it,” he said, finally.

Setting her fork down, Michelle looked her uncle in the eye.

“I know my income may not be the greatest but I am not completely destitute,” she said, careful to keep her tone soft. Her uncle’s attitude rankled a little... but she knew he meant well. “The past two years I have not had to pay rent, or utilities; just food and hygienic essentials. I have managed to save a little money, and I want a simple ceremony. Marriage licenses are not that expensive, and there are some clergymen who’ll perform the ceremony for very reasonable rates. I can rent a little kitchen and cook hors d’oeuvres myself. The hotel I live at has some wine I can purchase at about half cost; I have saved the hotel a lot of money with my financial services and I they’ll let me have their reception room very reasonably. I have already spoken with the manager. I know it’s not the best scenario imaginable but it will do just fine.”

Oscar watched his niece through her little oration; her chin lifted ever so slightly and her eyes held a very stubborn look. At that moment, he saw his younger brother’s expression on her face. It was as close to tears as he’d been in some time; though he did not show it. He felt extremely proud of her self-reliance, but there was no way he’d let her do this on her own.

“Your mom and dad would be proud of you, you know that?” he said, suddenly. Michelle was caught off guard by this statement; she was not quite prepared for the emotion that her uncle’s words triggered. Blinking, she tried very hard not to cry. “I know this because I am. Very proud.”

Michelle could not stop one small tear from sneaking out the corner of her eye. She dashed it away quickly.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, softly.

“That’s why you’re going to have a nice wedding,” Oscar continued. “Now, don’t argue with me on it, either; the bride’s family always pays for the wedding and last time I checked we’re still family.” Michelle opened up her mouth to protest, but there was something in his face that said he would not be moved. The gesture was appreciated, however.

“I didn’t expect that,” she said at last. Oscar smiled.

“Exactly,” he said, returning to his food. “I’ll have Laurel pick you up at your hotel tomorrow and you two can plan and shop or whatever. I don’t want to know. Just do it that way you like, OK?” Michelle thought her face would crack with smiling so much. She wanted to jump up and hug the man but refrained;
he seemed happy just to be eating.
 

Excitement welled in her, along with a welcome kind of relief. She had no qualms attempting the wedding herself, but knew it would be better if she had help. The idea of running about Manhattan with the good-natured Laurel planning a wedding sounded like a lot of fun; the lady had good taste.

Marco packed their leftovers in two, neat little bundles, wrapped in brown paper, tied with red ribbon and stamped with the restaurant’s logo. The congenial owner tried valiantly to get them to order dessert... but they refused, politely.

“Oh... I can’t eat another bite, sir,” Michelle explained. “It was so good; I ate more than I should have.”

“Bah! You should eat more, you are so thin, carina,” Marco told her. Oscar laughed.

“You can’t say that about me,” he joked, patting his slightly bulging belly. “I've been eating here too long.” Marco contented himself with wrapping some fresh canolis and securing them to the leftover packages.

“Put them in the refrigerator right away,” he instructed, as he walked off.

“I would weigh a ton if I ate here every day,” Michelle said plaintively. “You must go running or something to work it off.”

“You won’t catch me running,” Oscar said, with conviction. “Hard on the knees. I have a lap-pool. You know... it’s about the size of a large bathtub, sits in the floor; a motor keeps a water current running so you can swim laps without having a huge pool to heat.”

“I see,” Michelle said, impressed. “That sounds like a great way to stay in shape.”

“It beats sit-ups,” her uncle said. He signed his name to the bill and handed it to a passing waitress. Michelle offered to leave a tip but was politely refused.

They said goodbye to the friendly Marco and walked outside. Michelle wanted to walk home; her hotel wasn’t that far and she was used to the distance by now. Michelle turned to her uncle as he stood on the sidewalk.

“Thank you,” she said, meaning each word. “I don’t know what else to say.” Before she could talk herself out of it, she put her arms around Oscar and hugged him. He got over the shock of it quickly and dropped a small kiss on the top of Michelle’s head.