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"Banks," Ruby says, looking at him incredulously. "I'm in France--in Bordeaux. There is delicious food to eat and wine to be drunk, and I don't want to do either of those things alone. I'm asking you to join me, and we can sit anywhere you want us to that makes you feel like you're doing your job, but I want you to have a glass of wine with me and break bread. Can you do that?"
For a second Banks looks as if he might say no, but instead he nods. "As you wish, ma'am."
Ruby decides to ignore the fact that he's still insisting on calling herma'ambecause she doesn't want to lose her lunch date, and instead she does something that's totally uncharacteristic for her and Banks: she loops her arm through his and walks next to him. It would be weird for her to walk in front of him, as she does when she's with someone else and Banks is just acting as her security guard, and it would also be weird to walk into a restaurant feeling like the only company she could muster up was the man who's being paid to accompany her. So instead she forges ahead, dragging a surprised Banks along with her.
"This looks nice." Ruby stops in front of a small restaurant with leaded glass windows and an ancient-looking wooden door with an iron handle. The sign hanging over the door says Le Petit Pearl, and a yellowed menu under glass next to the front window details the specials on offer for the day. "Let's go here."
Le Petit Pearl is a bit like an English pub inside, with tall-backed velvet chairs on either side of a handful of tables for two. Ruby isn't exactly sure what a party of three or more is supposed to do in terms of sitting together, but as soon as she spots a table near the brick hearth of the fireplace, which is crackling with a warm midday fire, she stops caring about what anyone else will do.
"Could we sit there, please?" she asks the hostess, pointing at the table. The young woman leads the way, handing them each a menu. Ruby lets Banks choose his seat, and she notices that he looks fairly uncomfortable with the arrangement, but he sits in the chair with the best view of the front window and the door. Behind him is the kitchen.
"I'm already in love with this place,” Ruby gushes, holding the menu in both hands as she leans across the table. “I’ve been craving fondue and I’m starving.”
Banks looks at Ruby across the table and then fixes his gaze on the menu. Before this trip, the only other time she can recall sitting down to a meal with him was at her house the night Sunday came over and he walked her home. As far as Ruby knows, that was the start of their relationship, but she doesn’t know much more than that.
They order a fondue to share with a side of crusty baguette, and the waiter suggests a Chenin Blanc wine and brings the whole bottle, pouring first for Ruby, and then for Banks.
“A toast,” Ruby says, lifting her glass so that the wine catches the light of the glowing fireplace embers, “to a nice, relaxed meal between friends.”
Banks holds up his glass politely, clinks it against Ruby’s, and takes the smallest sip humanly possible before setting his glass back on the table. He looks around, checking the diners at the other tables and clearly finds them not of concern.
“So,” Ruby says, folding her hands in her lap as she watches Banks.“What I want for this hour or so is for you to take a lunch break.”
“I am going to eat—thank you for inviting me.”
“No,” Ruby says. “I meanyes, you are going to eat, but I want you to completely clock out for an hour. Can you do that? Every person needs a bit of respite in their day, and I firmly believe that having a moment of real human connection over a delicious meal is one way to totally recharge and fortify your soul.”
Banks has his attention focused on Ruby now, and a curious look spreads across his face; it’s a look she’s never seen before. “Wow,” he says, leaning back in his chair slightly. “You really do remind me of my mom sometimes.”
Ruby laughs, putting a hand to her mouth. “Your mom again?” Her eyebrows lift. “This is now the second time you've said that I remind you of a woman who has to be in her, what--seventies? Do you remember telling me that when you first found out I was afraid to fly? I need to meet this lady.”
Banks's eyes fall to the table. “She would be in her seventies,” he says, “but she’s gone.”
Ruby’s laugh dies on her lips, and the fireplace nearby crackles loudly as a piece of wood snaps in half. Ruby clears her throat. “I’m so sorry, Banks. I had no idea. And I was teasing, of course. I’m incredibly flattered to remind anyone of their mother, because mothers are special people.” She reaches across the table with just the slightest hesitation but rests her hand on his wrist just briefly to let him know that she truly is sorry.
“My mom was special,” he says, taking a long, deep inhale through his nose, holding it, and releasing. “She was an English teacher, and she read to me every single day. I wouldn’t be the man I am today if it wasn’t for her.”
“I think we need one more toast for mothers,” Ruby says, lifting her glass again. "Even though we just did one last night at dinner." She’s already feeling warm and happy from the fireplace, the velvet chairs, and the wine. “They make the world go round, truly, and without my own badass mom, I wouldn’t be the woman I am today either.”
Banks cracks a smile. “Yoursiskind of a badass,” he agrees, clinking her glass with his again and then taking another sip—this one slightly heartier than the first. “I remember the first time I met Patty Dallarosa I actually blushed. And I never blush.”
This makes Ruby cackle with joy. Hearing these kinds of stories about her mother is par for the course for Ruby, and yet she never gets tired of it. Patty had raised her alone after being widowed at forty, and as a tough-as-nails lawyer and well-known man-eater, Patty had instilled both work ethic and a powerful sense of what it means to be a woman in her only child. In addition to her long hours at work and her legendary dating life (she’d dallied liberally in the Hollywood dating pool, once even bringing Harrison Ford home with her in the 80s and nearly sending her daughter into a coma due to the shock of having Indiana Jones in their living room), Patty Dallarosa has always been a pillar of good graces and manners. To this day she continues to instill in Ruby the drive to always behave like the whole world is watching, and Ruby has thanked her mother countless times for teaching her all the intricacies of etiquette.
“Did she flirt with you?” Ruby asks Banks, her eyes dancing as she imagines her seventy-eight-year old mother making moves on a Secret Service agent nearly half her age.
“I believe she asked me if I’d played tight end at Notre Dame when she heard I’d played football there—“
“Oh god,” Ruby says, holding her wine in one hand and putting the other hand over her eyes. “Please don’t tell me—“
“Yep. She said I had the tightest end she’d ever seen.”
“Ohgod!” Ruby whoops, uncovering her eyes. “She did not!”
Banks is chuckling now, which is as close to full-on laughing as Ruby has ever seen him. “It’s true. She’s a charmer, your mom.”
Ruby shakes her head as she laughs. “They broke the mold after Patty was born,” she agrees. “But I want to hear more about your mom. The only thing I ever wanted to be besides a wife and mother was an English teacher, so I’m kind of envious of her.”
“She was something else,” Banks says. He turns his wine glass in circles on the table as he holds it by the stem, and watches the golden liquid moving inside the glass. “She raised two boys with a career Marine who had zero patience and even less sense of humor. I could not even begin to guess what brought them together. And yet it worked for them, somehow.”
