“That’s the Court House,” David stated, not stopping for a second to let me admire the design and construction of this huge building made of stone. He rushed us across the street to the opposite corner of Fifth Avenue where there was a white painted stone store front that was just the ground floor of at least eight stories.
A big door that looked like it was made of brass was hard to miss and along the outside were ground floorwindows, but they were a weird size and unproportioned, being close to the ground itself, making it look like a bad design flaw. Above the door was a sign that said, The Brass Rail.
Okay, the door makes sense now. Above the sign were big elongated arched windows.
David pulled the door open and blew in like nothing could stop him. After stepping inside, I came to a stop observing the restaurant. You had to take six steps down to the floor right at the door, putting us slightly underground. David found a square table big enough for all four of us, one chair on each side near the back of the restaurant, beelining for it, leaving us in the dust.
Following closely behind Jim, I looked up at the weird shaped square windows near the ceiling realizing why they were the way they were now. Below the windows sat the bar, completely full of customers sitting on stools and a brass rail along the floor for their feet to rest on.
Cool.
Then I walked into Jim’s back, not paying attention when he stopped, jilting him forward a bit. “Hmpf,” I gusted out from the force.
He turned around quickly as I tried to self-correct away from him and over balanced backwards, swinging my arms to stay upright. Jim steadied me with a hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?” he quietly asked.
I felt my cheeks start to burn from embarrassment. He’s got to stop touching me. “Yes. Sorry.” Looking anywhere else but his face, knowing at that moment, I wouldn’t be able to hide anything if I did.
He let go stepping away toward a chair next to David, but stopped short, looking at another table with four women. One of them, who was petitewith bottle blonde hair, noticed him and tapped her table and flicked her finger our way, then the others glanced at us and then had a whispered conversation.
After hesitating, Jim took a seat, then I took the one next to him, leaving the last spot for my dad who quietly sat down. I was about to ask Jim who those women were when I caught my dad eyeballing the both of us again.
“Dad,” I seriously clip, completely annoyed now with whatever was going on with him. “Would you stop with the looks of interrogation. Please.”
The only response I got was a deep vocal breath. Jim and David side eyed each other as they picked up the menus, Jim handing me mine, our fingers touching. I quickly took it with a slight smile when my dad broke the silence asking, “What’s good?”
Without missing a beat, David started talking about how the burgers were the best in the city and how it’s not just his opinion even though his opinion counts the most. And the fresh carved steak sandwich, if we wanted something more.
My dad hummed, when a lovely girl my age walked up and asked what we would like to drink.
This is the most painful meal experience in my existence.
Not even David’s endless chatter about how they met couldn’t save it. David and Jim have been friends ever since they met in the mine. Jim thought he was the most annoying person he ever met, but David wore him down. “Look, I know it’s rare I shut up but, who could really resist being friends with me, yeah?” He told us some of the antics they got up to, and I tried to listen and pay attention to them, butI was a restless mess the entire meal. At one point Jim reached under the table and placed his hand on my knee. Clearly the bouncing was noticeable. When he needed his hand back to eat, he pressed his leg up against mine.
It made me feel comforted. But it also made me question Jim’s intentions. I have never met another man as comfortable with touch as he was. It’s considered taboo to touch another man unless it’s a handshake or a backslap. Even hugs were looked down upon.
Between my dad and those women who kept looking over at us, it was killing my mood. When the women got up to leave, they had to walk by us which was when David finally noticed them, his mouth falling open. He looked at Jim and mouthed‘Oh my god’without actually saying it, only making me want to know who the broads were more.
When they were finally out of ear shot I asked, “Okay, I have to know,” grabbing everyone’s attention. “Who were those women?”
David scrunched his lips and nose like he smelt something toxic. My dad squinted his eyes reading the situation, surely sensing something that would raise his blood pressure.
When David kept quiet, I looked at Jim, who finally answered. “The fake blonde one is Richard’s wife, Karen,” leaving it at that.
“Wait,” Dad pointed at David, “the same guy that did that to him? The one that tried to hit my kid?”
“I really need everyone to stop calling me that,” I said under my breath, then feeling a hand on my knee again. I looked up at Jim, but he was looking at David.
“The one and only,” David said, touching his face lightly with a little wince. I bet it’s still sore even two days later. “And the one that was walking out behindher was his sister, Patricia. But the most shocking of it all was, one of them was Mary,” his voice getting louder, like he was completely flabbergasted. He looked at Jim, “When did that happen? Did you know she was associated with them?”
“Why or how would I know? You are the one that’s been pining over her,” he said sympathetically, adding, “But if you had any chance before, I think it just got flushed.”
We all finished our meals quickly, a thickness in the air now, with Dad, David and I having burgers with a side of their famous fried onions and Jim got the steak sandwich with Pittsburgh Slaw, because the citizens of the city just had to be different.
The server took our plates away leaving us with three empty pilsner glasses and my lonely Nehi Root Beer, and the one check. Jim reached for it and pulled his wallet out when dad jumped in. “Jim, no,” with nothing but seriousness, reaching his hand across the table. “Let’s have her split it.”
“It’s fine, Mike,” already pulling out three one-dollar bills and leaving them on the table with the check. Jim then got on his feet, motivating everyone else to follow. We said thank you to the server as we passed her on the way out and went up the stairs to the door.
On the street we awkwardly stood on the corner until Dad said, “We should probably head back.”
