“I’m guessing you would be Nick Axelrod,” I told him.
“At your service,” he said loudly. It seemed everything he said was loud. He extended his hand and I shook it. His grip was firm but he didn’t try to impress me with it.
“Since this is your maiden voyage aboard the Good Ship Nick, the first drink is on the house.”
“In that case, make it a single malt Scotch.”
Axelrod laughed boisterously.
“Good one,” he said. “Glenlivet?”
“Perfect.” I removed my jacket and draped it over the back of the stool.
“Water, ice?” Axelrod asked.
“On the side.”
For some reason Axelrod thought that was funny, too.
“I’m guessing Coach Testen told you I’d be by,” I said.
“Oh, yeah. Tried to be cool, but you could tell he was all hot and bothered. Said a little prick in an expensive leather jacket was besmirchin’ the good name of the Victoria Seven and I should throw your ass out.”
“Why would he say that?”
“I don’t know. You don’t look so little to me.”
“I meant about throwing me out.”
“Coach is probably tryin’ to protect his image. Thinks he’s John Wooden, for cryin’ out loud.”
“He thinks he’s in the same league as the Wizard of Westwood, a man that’s won ten NCAA basketball championships?”
“What can I tell ya? Hey, you know what you need? Roast beef served open-faced on sourdough bread with garlic roasted mashed potatoes and gravy. Yum. Your mother couldn’t make it better.”
“That’s no endorsement. My mother could barely make dinner reservations.”
Axelrod thought that was hysterical.
“The woman could mess up Pop-Tarts,” I added.
If he had been able to reach across the bar, Axelrod probably would have slapped me on the back. Instead, he rapped the bartop with his knuckles and proclaimed, “You’re okay, kid.”
I felt as if I had just passed some important initiation, which was what I was going for: Why else would I insult my mother’s culinary skills?
“Seriously,” Axelrod said, “You’re not leaving here until you eat something.”
“Do you have a salad bar?”
“No, we don’t have a salad bar. This is Nick’s.”
“Someone has to make a stand against healthy food.”
“Damn straight. Hey, Jacey.”
A waitress seemed to appear out of thin air.
“This is my daughter, Jace,” Axelrod said.
Of course I recognized her. The girl from Fit to Print.
“Hi,” she said. Her smile was bright, but brittle. You could smash it with a word. Her eyes had the look of a small animal suddenly confronted by something much, much larger.
“Good evening, Jace,” I told her. “My name is McKenzie.”
“Mr. McKenzie.”
“Jace. That’s an interesting name.”
“My real name is Judith Catherine, but since I was a kid everyone called me J.C. Somehow that was abbreviated to Jace.”
“I like it very much. It’s pretty.”
Jace’s smile became relaxed and warm, her eyes less frightened.
She was a good height for her age, about five foot seven. Her features were small and well turned, not yet beautiful, but beauty was there, like the buds on a rose bush. She smiled as though she had a lot to smile about.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Axelrod said, his voice taking on a conspiratorial timbre. “Jacey’s too young to be working in a place that serves alcohol. Shh . . .”
“Daddy, what’s alcohol?” Jace asked.
“We’ll talk about that when you’re twenty-six. Just remember, what do you do if the police arrive?”
“Buy ’em a drink and take them in the back room?”
“That’s my little girl.”
Jace rolled her eyes. “As if . . .” She turned to me, her pencil poised over the order pad. “What would you like for dinner?”
“It’s called supper,” Axelrod said. “He’ll have the special.”
“It’s supper when you eat at home,” Jace insisted. “When you eat out it’s called dinner.”
This time it was Axelrod’s turn to roll his eyes.
Jace promised to return in a few minutes with my order. Axelrod watched her depart.
“I’m going to miss her,” he said. “She’s at that age now where she’s actually pleasant company, where she has interesting things to say.”
“Is she going somewhere?”
“College. In the fall. You think I want my daughter hanging around Victoria all her life? Don’t get me wrong, Victoria is a great place to grow up and a great place to grow old. In between, for someone who wants to make something of herself—Jace’ll be graduating high school soon. It’s time to move on.”
“You seem to have done all right,” I volunteered.
“Yeah, well, all I ever wanted was right here. I guess you could say I was seduced by small dreams. Jace, though, Jace has big plans, big ambitions.”
“What ambitions?”
Axelrod laughed loudly.
