Page 38 of The Holy Grail

Dinner at casa Hodge

When she’d told him to wear a pair of dark jeans and the pink button-down shirt, he’d been hesitant at first. “Are you serious?” he’d asked.

“I’m dead fucking serious.”

“You like to stir the pot, don’t you?”

“Absolutely, and usually with more than one spoon. Life isn’t any fun, otherwise.” She’d paused, then said, “Plus, I just really want to see your dad’s reaction.”

Jules had chosen to wear one of her favorite outfits, boot-cut jeans paired with a dark red, wrap-around blouse that clearly disavowed anyone of the notion she wasn’t a force to be reckoned with.

When she’d told Malcom his father was predisposed to not liking her, it was also true that she was predisposed to not liking him , so she was going into this dinner in borderline offense mode.

However, Jules had high hopes she and Beverly would really connect on a personal level, since their one phone conversation had been so much fun.

Jules would find out tonight, at any rate.

When she and Malcom arrived at the Hodge residence, she wasn’t surprised to see it was very large and clearly worth a truckload of money .

“Is this where you grew up?” she asked, trying to imagine living in such a huge place, beautiful or not. It was a far cry from her own humble origins in an average-sized house with three bedrooms and two bathrooms.

“Yes.”

His one-word response was all Jules needed to hear to know his childhood home had not been a haven. “Well, it’s certainly … grand.”

As they approached the massive double front door, he murmured, “We can still back out. We can literally just turn around and get out of here.”

“Hmm, and what would our excuse be?”

“I don’t know, maybe a flat tire? Or we got rear-ended on the way and had to go to the hospital for medical treatment?”

“Those are both really good options, Mal,” she said, trying to sound as truthful as possible, “but why don’t we just see how this goes? Besides, I want to meet your mom in person, too.”

“All right, we’ll give it a go,” he agreed, putting a hand on her back and pulling her in close. “But I need a little something first. You know, for … motivation.”

He gave her a nice, deep kiss, while trying to be mindful of her lipstick, and when he leaned back, saw he needn’t have worried, since the deep mauve color seemed to still be in place. She smiled at him and explained, “This particular lipstick is almost bomb-proof.”

“Really?” He dipped his head for another kiss, this one with more vigor. His expression was more relaxed when the kiss ended, and he rested his forehead against hers, while his hand rubbed slowly along her back. “Are you … not wearing a bra?”

“No. I told you I hardly ever do.”

“I know, but …”

“But what? No one will be the wiser.” She paused. “Except for you.”

“Good point,” he allowed.

He still appeared slightly off-kilter, which Jules decided could be advantageous, because if half his brain was on her braless status, then maybe he wouldn’t be too focused on whatever crap his father brought to the table.

“And if you start feeling uncomfortable or whatever, just think about that, okay?”

“Think about the fact you’re not wearing a bra?”

“Yes, because then you’ll start thinking about my boobs, and how amazing they are—”

“Another good point.”

“—and it will redirect any negative energy you might be feeling into something positive.”

He chuckled softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good,” Jules said, then reached out to knock, using the large lion’s head brass knocker, which reverberated like gunshots.

A few moments later, the door was opened by a beautiful woman in her late sixties, with silver-streaked dark hair cut in a classic bob and blue eyes.

She was dressed in a pair of sand-colored pants and a matching tunic, which looked like cashmere.

The strong resemblance to Malcom left little doubt that this was his mother.

“Come in, come in,” she said with enthusiasm, ushering Jules and Malcom into the grand foyer, complete with a black and white marble floor, then closed the door behind them. “I’m so glad you both could make it.”

“Hi, Mom.” He bent to kiss her cheek, before bringing Jules forward. “I’d like you to meet Jules Shaw. Jules, this is my mother, Beverly.”

He watched as the two most important people in his life took stock of one another, and even though he’d had no reason to believe the meeting would be uncomfortable, it was still a relief to see them smiling and at ease.

Jules held her hand out. “It’s nice to meet you, Beverly.”

“Oh, we’re not doing that,” Beverly said, pulling Jules in for a hug, instead.

“And it’s nice to meet you, too. Very nice,” Beverly added with a smile when she pulled back.

It was then that she really took note of Malcom’s shirt, and exchanged a quick look with him before lightly touching his sleeve. “Is this new?”

“It is,” he confirmed. “Jules picked it out for me.”

Surprised, Beverly swiveled to Jules. “You did?”

Jules nodded. “I did. I took him shopping for clothes one night because I was tired of seeing him in suits and made him inflict some damage to his credit card. Honestly, it was long overdue.”

“Well, he looks very handsome in it.”

“I agree.”

Beverly then looped her arm through Jules’. “Why don’t we go get a drink?”

“That sounds great.”

Beverly began leading Jules down a long hallway toward the interior of the house, leaving Malcom to follow. Every room they passed was filled with expensive furnishings, and looked like the only person who ever went in them was probably popping in to dust .

The room she led them into appeared to be a parlor of some sort, with a small couch, a few accent chairs and a little bar area, which Beverly immediately went to.

“What would you like to drink?” she asked Jules.

Seeing a glass on the counter that was likely Beverly’s drink, Jules pointed to it. “What’s that?”

“A sidecar,” Beverly answered.

“I’ll take one of those. It’s been a while since I had one.”

“What’s your favorite drink?” Beverly wanted to know as she began making another sidecar.

“I love gimlets.”

After Jules was given her drink and Malcom was handed an old fashioned, Beverly had them toast to ‘Character references’, which caused him to make a face.

Malcom’s father arrived shortly after that, joining them in the parlor.

He greeted Beverly first, with a polite head tilt and a cool, “Hello, Beverly. Good to see you.”

“Hello, Monroe,” she greeted him back.

Monroe was average height, with steel-gray hair, and a stern resting face.

Jules got the feeling he was short on humor and long on misery, and as he approached Malcom, Jules saw the older man’s expression shift slightly at seeing the pink shirt, and noticed the distinctly cool relationship between father and son, which bordered on uncomfortable.

“Malcom,” Monroe said, extending a hand to his son.

Malcom, who had one arm around Jules’ shoulder, shook the proffered hand with his free one. “Hi, Dad.” Then, motioning to Jules, Malcom said, “I’d like you to meet Jules Shaw. Jules, this is my father, Monroe.”

There was no hug from Monroe. He took her hand in a firm grip and held it for a moment before letting go, but not before she caught the faint smell of bourbon. “Jules.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Monroe,” she told him, having a feeling that was going to become a lie before the night was over.

Expecting to engage in some small talk with him, she was a little surprised when he went to the bar and poured himself several fingers of bourbon, instead.

At first, Jules thought his borderline rude behavior was deliberate, but then decided he was just being himself, and at that particular moment, the need for a drink was more important than observing the ‘rules’ of social interactions .

She could tell Monroe’s actions were already giving Malcom some anxiety, so she squeezed his hand and gave him a quick It’s fine , look.

When it was time for dinner a few minutes later, they headed to the dining room, which was semi-formal, with lovely, celery-green silk wallpaper, a green and navy Persian rug, and a rather nice chandelier.

The table, which could comfortably seat twelve, was set for four with beautiful china, crystal glasses, and sparkling silverware.

Small, lit candles were placed in the center of the table, giving the space a soft glow.

Malcom and Jules sat on one side, with Beverly and Monroe on the other.

Yvonne, the housekeeper that Jules had spoken with on the phone a few months ago, served them dinner. She was a middle-aged woman in black pants and a white shirt, with her brown hair pulled back in a bun, and a friendly smile.

After Jules complimented Beverly on everything, Monroe started the conversation. “So, why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself, Jules? My son has been rather secretive about you.”

“Monroe,” Beverly admonished. “He hasn’t been secretive.”

Jules glanced at Malcom and he gave her a quick nod, letting her know he had been a little secretive about her.

“I’m not being critical,” Monroe returned, finishing his drink and holding it up to Yvonne, signaling he wanted another one. “I’m just stating a fact.”

“Well, the word ‘secretive’ makes him sound like he’s five years old.”

“Fine. Let me rephrase that.” Monroe’s tone was bland as he faced Jules again. “He’s been less than forthcoming about you.”

Jules gave him her polite smile. “Where would you like me to start?”

“How about with what you do for a living?”

She wasn’t surprised he suggested she lead off with something as boring as that, and for a moment, she almost wished she was a stripper, because that would have been fun. “I’m a managerial accountant.”

That announcement seemed to shock Monroe just as much, and his eyebrows rose for a moment. “A managerial accountant? Really.”

“That’s right.” Malcom reached over and took her hand so he could plant a kiss on it. “Beauty and brains.”