The lone hunter

In a passage from her book "Infidelity," the author remembers watching her father work his magic.

By Ann Pearlman

Oct 9, 2000 | The restaurant is hushed. Shades are drawn and peculiar spiky plants line the sills. This is my first restaurant meal with my father. I am between Daddy and Mother, David across from me. I finger the thickness of the coarse white tablecloth and clink the empty glass with my fork. Mother frowns and shakes her head. The waitress' white uniform reminds me of a doctor's office. I am impressed with the paper menu, the various items in separate categories: appetizers, desserts. Some are new words: Entrie, ` la carte. The waitress, her dark hair a shining helmet, moves behind us to pour water. The ice clinks as it slides with the liquid. She spills a drop when she pours Daddy's, which seeps slowly on the cloth.

"Oh, pardon me. I'll get that right up." She dabs it with a napkin.

I study the menu. Ice cream. Coca-Cola. Hamburgers. Liver and onions. Pot roast. Malted milks. I am eight. I can easily read the menu. I can order anything I want.

She returns and stands between Daddy and me. She smells of roses and grease. Her fingers are poised around her pencil, pink nails curve at the ends.

"Ready to order?" She winks at David. I pull the white napkin from under my fork and spread it over my thighs. I know what I will order: turkey and mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce. A meal fit for Thanksgiving.

When she approaches my father, her voice slides down just a little.

"What did you think of the White Sox?" he asks her. "Catch any night games?" He flashes her a broad smile.

"Whenever I can." Her laugh is slow and throaty and doesn't match her gentle voice. Daddy's eyes sweep her hips as she walks away. Her slip makes a slight sound as she sways, her nylon-clad legs brush each other with each step. I see him watching her. And he looks away. Her belt rests easily below her waist. She goes to another table and then sashays from the kitchen handing plates of crispy brown potatoes and hamburgers for a young couple.

She has a slender, tight body, while Mother's is lush. Mother fusses with David's napkin. He is five and wiggles the napkin to the floor.

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