"Miss? Miss!" The waiter's voice was irritated. When Myles touched Sue's arm to get her attention, she looked up.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "What did you say?"
He huffed. "I said," he repeated, "Would the young lady like something to drink?" The words were drawn out slightly, and the expression on his face was one of disdain.
"Club soda would be fine," she replied timidly, cringing slightly as she waited for Myles' reaction.
He didn't bat an eyelash, much to her surprise. "Make that two," he added smoothly. "And would you be so kind as to ask Gregori to come out? Tell him that Myles Leland would like a word, if he has a moment."
"Yes, sir."
After the waiter left, Sue leaned over, her eyes a bit suspicious. "Who's… Gregori, I think you said?"
"The owner of this fine establishment," he replied. "He can charm anyone; imagine your friend Charlie as the owner of this place, always wanting to be in the middle of his customers' enjoyment. You'll love him."
Five minutes later, a large, sociable-looking man came bustling over, carrying their club sodas and a bottle of wine on a tray. His luxurious handlebar mustache was waxed to perfection, and he was obviously a part of this place. Sue found herself liking him even before he reached the table, though she knew she'd probably have a hard time reading him, between the mustache and what she suspected was a very pronounced, very genuine Italian accent.
"Myles, il mio buon amico!" As soon as the tray was on the table, Gregori spread his hands in a welcoming gesture. He spotted Sue, and the smile got wider. "Signore Leland, he always come in with a pretty girl. A bottle of our best Chianti, on the house."
Myles chuckled and held up a hand to stop what was no doubt a lengthy commentary. "Not tonight, Gregori, but thank you." He caught Sue's expression and knew she'd understood very little of the conversation so far. "This is a co-worker of mine, Sue Thomas. Sue, this is Gregori Pannatone, owner of the best Italian restaurant, and the smoothest tongue, in the tri-state area."
"I'm sorry… Ban-ah-toe-nay?" she asked.
Gregori clapped his hands together. "Ah, this lady, she is the one you tell me about, yes? With the eyes of an eagle, and a beautiful dog who loves my cannelloni, when he can steal it off your desk." He pulled out a business card and presented it to her with a flourish. "Signore Gregori Pannatone, at your service. If there is anything I can do for you tonight, you just let me know and I shall care for it personally."
Myles' eyes narrowed just slightly. "Actually, Gregori, there is something. We'd like a different waiter for tonight, if you don't mind. One whose manners are intact."
"Myles." Sue's eyes were wide, and a flush crept over her cheeks as she shook her head. "No. You don't have to—"
"Your waiter, he was rude?" Gregori's expression was grave.
"Very. He asked Miss Thomas for her drink order, and when she didn't look up from her menu, since she did not hear him and I had forgotten to get her attention, he was most condescending to her." Myles ignored the pleading look Sue was giving him. "I'm not used to such treatment from your staff here, no matter iwhom/i they are addressing."
"Of course, il mio amico." Gregori had noticed Sue's mortified expression, and he reached over to pat her hand. "You are causing no trouble, signora graziosa, so you do not need to look so sad. The waiter, he is new, and this is not the first time he has been rude to a customer. I do not look fondly on waiters who ruin the experience of Il Fiore Giallo. I shall take care of you myself tonight. Have no worries, signora. Please. I wish you to enjoy your evening."
"Thank you," she replied smiling. "You're very kind."
"Not at all," the restaurant owner replied. "In fact, since you will not be having the Chianti tonight, I will have the chef prepare an order of cannelloni especially for your Levi. On the house. And you will not have to worry about Marcus any more, Myles. He has proven too many times that he is not suited for this place."
"You are a prince among men, Gregori." Myles' smile was a practiced one, but Sue could see the genuine warmth behind it.
As the owner bustled off, putting in an order for antipasto and leaving them to decide on their entrees, she leaned over. "Remember giving me permission to 'swat' you?"
He smiled over the rim of his club soda and nodded. Then he shocked her again by signing WHYQQ, his brows raised, before he set the glass down.
"You just earned it, if I could reach you without causing a scene."
Now the smile vanished, and he looked concerned. "Why?" he repeated vocally. Then he sighed, and his eyes gained a sad quality. "What did I do now, Thomas?"
"You didn't need to go to all that fuss just because of me." Her eyes dropped until he tapped her hand.
"This was not a case of 'fussing over you,' Sue," he said firmly but quietly. "This was a case of the service I expect in a restaurant, and Gregori runs a very high-class, well-mannered establishment. I would have done as much for any other lady I was here with, regardless of in what way the waiter was rude."
She nodded in understanding, but her voice shook a little as she replied softly, "While I can appreciate your standards, I don't appreciate the additional attention it brings." Her head moved slightly to encompass the people sitting around them.
Myles drew back a little, and glanced around, realizing now what she had meant. It was clear others had overheard the conversation. He was used to Gregori's grand overtures drawing attention, but never like this. He had never been regarded, before, the way he was now. Such pity in others' eyes.
Maybe it was the months since the fraud case at the nursing home; maybe it was something inside he'd never tapped before. Or maybe it was the painful realization that, at one time, he'd have been just like them. Whatever the reason, he found himself a bit irritated now, that something as plain as common courtesy could become such an issue simply because the recipient was "different."
He turned back to face his colleague, and watched her eyes dart around under her lashes until the others went back to their conversations. Then he tapped her hand again. "You shouldn't be embarrassed to insist on a bit of courtesy," he said.
Sue sighed. "That's just it, Myles. When it's me, or someone like me, insisting on it, it somehow becomes more than it maybe should." She twirled her glass a little on its coaster. "I don't really know how to explain it."
"Try me." He lifted his own glass in a small salute, a twinkle in his eyes. "We survived the perils of Deaf Art; how much more treacherous can this be?"
She smiled. "Ok, but you asked for it." Taking a moment to collect her thoughts, she then looked directly at him and plunged in. "Have you ever thought of how you would function in a world where the one sense that you are missing actually cuts you off from communication? When your entire life has been molded to 'make' you adapt to the others, always, instead of others adapting to you? Situations like this draw unwelcome attention, because it zeroes in on the absence of that sense."
She watched the implications of her words cross his face, and realized he hadn't quite gotten it. She tried again. "Helen Keller even expressed empathy for the deaf. She said that, if she had to choose, she would much rather have her hearing than her sight. Because blindness cuts you off from things. Deafness cuts you off from people."
That made an impact; she saw him blink, then sit back in his chair for a moment, his eyes wide and almost shocked. "I—" He thought hard on it; she could see it in the way his brows drew together a little, his jaw set; much the way she could tell, at the office, when he was puzzling out a case.
After a minute or so, he sighed and leaned back in, resting his elbows on the edge of the table and regarding her over his folded hands. He started to say something, but she stopped him before he got very far.
"Can I see your lips, at least, or are you going to hide them behind your hands for the rest of the evening?" She smiled as she said it, hoping he wouldn't take it too hard. He's trying, at least; that's more than I would have expected a year ago.
"Oh." He signed SORRY, and moved his hands to rest on the table instead. "I was saying… I guess I never thought of it that way. Most of the thoughts I've had since knowing you are in terms of what you can't hear, things I enjoy and undoubtedly take for granted. I never thought about it in terms of… a barrier." Then his face registered a memory of some sort. "Or maybe I did, and just didn't think of it from your perspective."
Sue stopped him from signing SORRY again. "Myles, it's ok. I'm used to it, and I know you're about to say that doesn't make it okay, and I thank you for that. But making even more of an issue over it tonight isn't going to cure the whole world, and I'd rather we just look forward to the concert."
He nodded, and smiled as Gregori reappeared with a huge plate of antipasto and two fresh club sodas. "Don't get ahead of the evening, Thomas. We still have the best meal DC has to offer waiting for us. What would you like to order?"
She glanced at the menu again; she'd been dreading this moment. "Uh…" She sighed. "Myles, the only thing I see on here that I can pronounce is the penne arrabbiata, and that's only because I saw you say it the night Bobby's dad made contact with that bomber. Spicy just doesn't appeal tonight."
To her surprise, he didn't roll his eyes or blow out a breath in frustration; he simply lowered her menu so he could see it as well, and said, "What does? We'll find it."
What ended up appealing was parmigiano della melanzana, eggplant parmesan. It had finally taken him writing it out phonetically, on the notepad he'd pulled out of his pocket, before she could pronounce the Italian version. It had been a humorous venture for both of them, though.
"That's not your case notebook, is it?" she asked. "Randy will have your neck for using it outside of 'company business'."
He rolled his eyes. "Please. Don't ruin the evening by bringing up that little weasel." He took a drink before answering. "I simply thought it might be prudent to have a backup plan in case the surroundings weren't conducive to lip-reading."
"I'm sorry?" She smiled. "Your glass was blocking your lips for about half of that."
"Sorry." He set the glass down and repeated what he'd said.
Sue smiled. "If you're going to apologize every single time, I'm going to stop 'swatting' you."
"Well, I didn't realize that—" He stopped abruptly. "No; that's as bad as an apology. I'll try to remember better, and you can just kick me under the table to get my attention."
She laughed. "How about we just agree to do most of our talking between courses? Otherwise, we're both going to end up with indigestion."