Message of Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

don’t catch nothin’.”
    “Come on. That was years ago.”
    “Don’t let me keep ya. Y’all have a good night.”
    “Thanks, my man. We’ll bring you some leftovers.”
    Ricky mock-scowled. “Oh, that rich food’s bad for my arteries! Y’all have a good time. Don’ worry ‘bout me.”
    “Alright, You keep dry, okay?”
    “Oh, yeah.”
    As we headed away toward the hotel, I felt a surge of conflicting emotions; the thrill of the brisk evening, so wonderfully lit, with City Hall and its ornate elegance just up the street. My pride for Everett’s innate good nature toward Ricky contrasted with the comparative luxury of our destination.
    “What?”
    “Nothing,” I grinned. “I just… You’re something else.”
    “He’s an okay guy. I met him at Magee a few times. He actually has a place to live. He just likes to pester the tourists.” He smiled up at me, nearly wheeling ahead of me towards the hotel. “Come on. I’m hungry!”
    “What did he mean?”
    “What?”
    “When he said, ‘Don’t catch nothing.’”
    “You remember Legionnaire’s Disease?”
    “Wait, when all those old veterans died?”
    Everett gestured toward the imposing hotel’s entrance.
    “But–”
    “We better find the side entrance.” He looked up at me with an amused scowl. “Don’t worry. They cleaned it up. It’s not contagious…anymore.”
    Everett pushed himself in ahead of me with ease as a handsome bellman opened the door for us through the fortunately flat side door entryway. The grand lobby’s floral displays jutted out from circular tables. Beguiled by the intricate patterns in the ceiling, I found myself gawking open-mouthed, nearly tripping on Everett’s chair.
    “This way, gentlemen,” the bellman said, guiding us to a carpeted ramp around a corner by the reception desk.
    Diana Forrester greeted us at the entrance of the hotel’s restaurant like a diplomat welcoming foreign dignitaries, as if the entire hotel were her own palace.
    She seemed taller than I’d remembered her. Her hair done up in a higher style, her red jacket and skirt angled with subtly wide shoulder pads, a thin strand of white pearls dangling from her neck just so. I couldn’t keep a forced smile from my face as she bowed to hug her son, then approached me. She embraced me yet somehow managed to hug me while barely touching.
    “Shall we go to our table?” she breezily said, leading us through the doorway.
    As we followed, Everett offered a cheerful wink of reassurance. Yes, this would be fun. Yes, I should let go and enjoy this.
    We settled at a table, prepared in advance, it seemed, with one chair removed to accommodate Everett. The white tablecloth and multiple glasses and utensils glowed under the warm lighting. Waiters busied themselves with a silent efficiency. Small bound menus were presented to us.
    “Order whatever you like,” Diana Forrester offered with a wry smile. “Champagne, perhaps?”
    I looked to Everett for instruction. “Sure!” he beamed. 
    “Nothing but the best for my son and his good friend,” Mrs. Forrester offered as she sipped what appeared to be a most perfect goblet of iced water.
    I couldn’t help but consider how she had qualified her description, ‘good’ friend as opposed to ‘boy.’ She prepared to woo us with luxury, mixed with a qualitative sliver of dismissal, that diminution of our bond.
    Surveying the menu served as a distraction. Surprisingly, the prices weren’t too exorbitant, until I realized I was reading the list of appetizers. We ordered, an effete waiter made a few suggestions, and left us as a silent busboy proffered warm bread blanketed by a napkin. A bottle of champagne appeared almost immediately after Everett’s mother had ordered it.
    “If you’ll excuse me, I need to wash my hands. My wheels are a tad gritty.” Everett removed his fingerless gloves before excusing himself.
    With my ‘good’ friend absent, Diana Forrester’s cheerful demeanor shifted to an