Ten Thousand Saints - Eleanor Henderson [53]
“I don’t know why we couldn’t meet at Dojo,” Les said, frowning at the menu. “They have Oriental crap there.” It was becoming clear to Jude that, despite Les’s apparently bottomless pockets, his tastes were still those of a Lintonburg boy.
“They have better Oriental crap here,” said Di. She inserted her hand into the pocket of Les’s jeans, gemmed rings sparkling on her fingers, retrieved his cigarette lighter, and lit the two tea candles on the table. When the waitress came over, Di ordered without looking at the menu, then poured tea for all of them when it came.
“I’ve been dying to meet you, Jude, but you have to practically clobber this guy over the head to get your way.” With her black hair and powder white skin, Di looked almost Japanese herself. “Tell me how you like New York.”
“I like it,” Jude said. The tea tasted like dirt, but after the pissy aftertaste of the wine, he welcomed the warmth. Johnny drank tea. Herbal, no caffeine. “It’s a lot cooler than Vermont. There’s a lot more things to do. I like that there’s so much music everywhere.”
Di nodded appreciatively. “What sort of music do you enjoy, Jude?”
Jude put down his cup. “Lots of kinds, but mostly hardcore?”
“What does that sound like?”
“You know what punk is?”
“Darling, I’m from England. The Clash? The Sex Pistols?”
“Yeah, it’s like that,” Jude said, becoming excited, “but faster.”
“Faster?” Di said skeptically.
“Why does it have to be so fast?” Les wondered. “What’s wrong with slow?”
“Darling, there’s such a thing as being too slow.”
“I know what I’m talking about here. I recall escorting your daughter to five or six hundred punk concerts. I don’t understand the hurry.”
“Your father’s a tough critic. If it’s not Creedence Clearwater Revival . . .”
“And in New York,” Jude went on, “lots of the hardcore scene’s straight edge, which means no one does drugs.”
“Really? Is it religious or something?”
“Well, sort of. Like, my friend Johnny said Gandhi once took a vow to abstain from eating meat, and drinking, and, you know, being promiscuous. It’s kind of like that.”
“Fascinating.”
Les gave a dismissive chuckle. “Straight edge? That’s what they’re called now? In my day, we called them squares.” He took out his cigarettes, lit one up, and scooted the pack across the table.
“It’s not like they’re too lame to do drugs,” Jude said, ignoring the cigarettes, suddenly defensive of Johnny and his friends. “Some of them are recovering addicts,” he said, using Johnny’s phrase. “Some just have parents who are addicts.”
“Well, I think that sounds like a wonderful organization,” said Di, waving away Les’s smoke and Jude’s remark as the waitress set down their food. Everything was cold and pink. Jude slipped out his retainers when Di wasn’t looking and hid them in a napkin under the table. “I wish Eliza would get involved in something like that. She never took to ballet. She’s not normally one for self-discipline.” She took a bite of something slippery-looking. “Salmon. It’s good. Try it.”
Jude captured a jiggly piece with his chopsticks.
“But, do you know, I believe she’s turned a corner? Knock on wood.” She knocked lightly on Les’s bald head. “She’s been positively sober. Doesn’t take wine with dinner. And quite studious. She barely even comes home anymore, stays at school all weekend to study.” She spewed a few grains of the rice she was chewing. “I wonder if she’s finally growing up,” she said. “Is it possible?”
Jude looked to his father, who was putting out his cigarette. Which of them was she asking? “Sure,” Jude finally said, with false enthusiasm. How did he know? He barely knew the girl.
“Or perhaps,” Di began. She stared dreamily into her plate, fiddling with her chopsticks.
“What?” said Les.
“Perhaps . . .” She looked directly at Jude. “I know she didn’t know your friend terribly well. But I do believe she was quite shaken by what happened to him. Having to speak to that detective. And having spent the evening with the two of you, just before it