Page 49 of Heart

“Holy cow!” May said, excited. “David’s is going to get its first write-up!”

“George, I am so sorry.” Jack looked pained as he said the words. “Clearly, we were not thinking this through.”

“It’s all good,” George said, growing paler. “It was bound to happen, eventually. I just didn’t think it’d be tonight.”

“D, honey, why don’t you go join everyone at our table. George, you come with me.” Jack ushered George out from behind the bar.

“Where are we going?” George asked, allowing Jack to lead him like a sleepwalker.

“Not far. Right here.” He sat George down on a barstool and sat next to him, facing him away from tables. “May, what does George drink?”

“Not much. Wine primarily. But he looks like he could use a shot. Let’s open some of that ouzo.” She handed Jack the bottle and started putting some ice in a cocktail shaker.

Jack opened the bottle, and May held the shaker out for him. He poured a generous helping of the anise-flavored liqueur into it.

May covered it, shook, and strained the clear liquid—now cloudy—into an oversized shot glass. “Here, sweetie, drink this.”

George did as told, tossing it back with no reservation, as if his ancestry had somehow magically kicked in.

“God, that’s awful. Give me another.”

May poured again. George drank it. The color was coming back to his face.

“Better?” Jack asked.

He nodded, looking at Jack with a dopey grin.

The door jingled, and George swiveled on the stool to see who it was. It was Fabio. He waved from across the room. George waved back.

“Is that your Italian guy?” May asked.

“Yep. That’s him.”

“He looks like one of those guys on a cheesy romance novel.”

“I recognize him,” said Jack. “He works at the Italian embassy. Fabio something.”

George looked at Jack, bewildered. “What is going on? Do you guys know everyone?”

“I’ve never seen the accordion player,” Jack offered.

Fabio approached them, hands out. “Buongiorno. It is so wonderful to be here.”

“Hello Fabio,” said Jack, extending his hand. “Good to see you... off the clock.”

“I know you,” Fabio purred. “Secret Service.” He raised an index finger to lips and shushed him playfully.

Jack and May made brief, telepathic eye-contact. “I’m going to go back to my table,” Jack said. “George, if you need anything, just ask. I hate that we’re contributing to your stress.”

George grinned, slurring, “It’s all good, Jack. I’m much better now.”

Jack cut his eyes to May again, saying—You watch him. She nodded.

“Hi, Fabio. I’m George’s friend, May.”

Fabio looked at her as if she were a bug. “I see,” he said.

George put his hand on Fabio’s shoulder. “I’m glad you found us, but I have to get back in the kitchen. May, could you help Theresa with seating Fabio?”