Gregory Benford by Timescape

Author:Timescape [Timescape]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780307574077
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2012-03-21T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

MAY 29, 1963

The maitre d’hotel at the top of the cove restaurant said, “Dinner, sir, s’il vous plaît?”

“Uh, yes.”

He led them to a spot with a commanding view of the La Jolla Cove below. Waves broke into foamy white sprays beneath the floodlights. “Ees zees taab-le hokay?” Gordon nodded while Penny rolled up her eyes. After the man had bestowed the huge menus and gone away she said, “God, I wish they’d cut out the accent business.”

“Vat ees eet, madame? You no like zee phony talk?” Gordon said.

“My French isn’t great, but—” she stopped as the waiter approached. Gordon did the wine ritual, selecting something he recognized from the fat book. When he looked around he saw the Carroways sitting some distance away, laughing and having a good time. He pointed them out to Penny; she duly entered the fresh datum in their running tally. But they did not go over to report the latest figures. The Colloquium lay five days in the past, but Gordon felt uneasy in the department now. Tonight’s splurge at the Top of the Cove was Penny’s suggestion, to lift him out of his moody withdrawal.

Something thumped at his elbow. “I open it now,” the waiter said, working at the bottle. “Muss lettit breed.”

“What?” Gordon said, surprised.

“Open ta da air, y’know—breed.”

“Oh.”

“Yes suh.” The waiter gave him a slightly condescending smile.

After he had left Gordon said, “At least he has the smile down pat. Are all the high-class restaurants around here like this?”

Penny shrugged. “We don’t have the old world culture of New York. We didn’t get mugged walking over here, either.”

Gordon would normally have sidestepped the now-what-you-New-Yorkers-ought-to-do conversation, but this time he murmured “Don’t krechtz about what you don’t know,” and without thinking about it he was talking about the days after he moved away from his parents and was living in a cramped apartment, studying hard and for the first time really sensing the city, breathing it in. His mother has assigned Uncle Herb to look in on him now and then, since after all he was living in the same neighborhood. Uncle Herb was a lean and intense man who was always landing big deals in the clothing business. He had a practical man’s disdain for physics. “How much they pay you?” he would say abruptly, in the middle of discussing something else. “Enough, if I scrimp.” His uncle’s face would twist up in the act of weighing this and he would inevitably say, “Plus all the physics you can eat? Eh?” and slap his thigh. But he was not a simple man. Using your intelligence for judging discounts or weighing the marketability of crew neck sweaters—that was smart. His only hobby he had turned into a little business, too. On Saturdays and Sundays he would take the IRT down to Washington Park Square early, to get a seat at one of the concrete chess tables near MacDougal and West Fourth streets. He was a weekend chess hustler. He played for a quarter a game against all comers, sometimes making as much as two dollars in an hour.

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