Unmanned by Lois Greiman

Author:Lois Greiman [Greiman, Lois]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
ISBN: 9780440337119
Publisher: Dell
Published: 2007-10-30T07:00:00+00:00

14

A guy’s got to get a license to drive a Geo, but any doofus with a few good swimmers can be a father.

—Dagwood Dean Daly, better known as D to those who want to keep their livers

WE NEVER LEFT the building, just took the elevator up to the top floor. From there I could see a long, tawny stretch of Oak Street Beach. Despite the fact that the beach is man-made and had been laboriously hauled in from more tropical climes, the beach was nearly deserted. The restaurant was just as empty.

“So what does it take to become a licensed psychologist? A master’s? A bachelor’s?” he asked.

I drank my strawberry margarita and set it back on its leather coaster. The whole restaurant had a Western motif, making me wonder if he matched it or if it matched him. “I have a Ph.D.”

“Really? Even though your father called you Pork Chop?” We’d been there a while. And maybe I had talked too much. “Or maybe because he called you Pork Chop.”

“How do you mean?”

He shrugged. “You needed to prove your value. To vindicate yourself. Some people succeed because of their heritage. Some despite it.” He drank his daiquiri. You don’t usually see men drink daiquiris. Especially pseudo cowboys in snakeskin boots. “Maybe you should thank him.”

“For calling me a slab of meat?”

He laughed. “I happen to love pork.”

He was looking at me funny, maybe the way mobsters look at people they’re planning to fit for cement boots, maybe like they look at folks they want to get in the sack. I guess I don’t know much about mobsters.

“And complicated women,” he added.

“Complicated.” I shook my head. “I’m pretty straightforward.”

“So you adore your brother,” he said, leaning back in the booth. “Admire the hell out of him. In fact, you adore him so much that you agreed to borrow twenty thousand dollars from a friend you won’t even name and bring me said money to get him off the proverbial hook.”

I fiddled with the coaster. It felt kind of like suede. Those crazy cowboys.

“Or could it be that you think your brother’s a first-rate peckerhead but you still agreed to bring the check?” He tilted his head, thinking, then: “No,” he said. “It was your idea.”

I didn’t say anything.

He chuckled and leaned back against the rust-colored cushions of our booth, steepling his fingers. “Still trying to impress your father after all these years, Ms. McMullen?”

“I just didn’t want to read about Peter in the morning news.”

“Your parents wouldn’t understand, then, if you let him sink because of his own moronic decisions?”

I snorted. It didn’t sound very ladylike. Or human. But he’d insisted I have a drink.

“Don’t tell me your mom called you Pork Chop, too.”

I made a smiley face in the condensation on my glass. “What did your parents call you?”

He eyed me for a minute. “Funny, isn’t it? You need a damned license for the privilege of driving a Geo Metro, but any doofus with a couple good swimmers can be a father.

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